


Revan's Shadow

by Knightfall1138



Series: The Shadow of Revan Duology [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-04-28
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:22:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 90,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24673789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightfall1138/pseuds/Knightfall1138
Summary: A Story of the Old Republic: Revan is a charismatic Jedi Knight with a bright future in the Order, but his ambitions will lead him down a path toward the true meaning of the Dark Side and the Unknown World that waits beyond the veil.
Series: The Shadow of Revan Duology [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803754
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. Star Wars

**A long time ago in a galaxy far,**

**far away....**

_Four thousand years before the rise of the GALACTIC EMPIRE: stability in the galaxy is all but a memory. In the wake of the vicious onslaught orchestrated by SITH LORD EXAR KUN, entire star systems lie in ruins while many more serve as helpless plunder for the desperate and displaced._

_As the Republic begins to fall prey to terrorists and profiteers looking to take advantage of a wounded civilization, they desperately enlist the aid of the Jedi Order to head off the outbreak while their military is slowly brought back to fighting strength._

_In pursuit of one such menace, two JEDI MASTERS descend upon the Outer Rim world of Deralia after an attack on a Republic battleship. Little do the Jedi know that their paths are soon to lead them to a young boy, whose fate lies entangled with that of an entire galaxy...._


	2. Prelude: The Jewel of Deralia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Some said that Revan was born in the Outer Regions, beyond the Rim, and that's what called to him during the Mandalorian Wars… and after. It was the call of home."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)

The Republic vessel burned brightly through the viewport, twinkling against the black of space like a dread constellation. Fires bloomed from decompressed decks, throwing wreckage and frozen oxygen in all directions as the hammerhead-class warship tumbled helplessly toward the atmosphere of the nearby planet.

A Republic emergency response fleet had only just arrived, fighting the strengthening gravity well and the crumbling derelict as it spun end over end in a desperate attempt to divert the ship's course away from the planet. But word over the private channels was calling the effort a complete failure. The evacuation order was being given and a squad of soldiers had been dispatched to the world in the vessel's path so that unknowing denizens might have a chance to flee the inevitable blast zone—and they didn't have much time.

Vrook Lamar watched as the emergency response fleet began to pull their ships back, lest they get caught in the planet's gravitational pull, as well. He rubbed at the wrinkled skin upon his brow, attempting to quell the aggravation that had been building since their arrival. They had gotten here too late. They were always too late these days, it seemed.

"What do you think, Kreia?" Vrook's gravelly voice cut through the silence of the cabin. "There might be some stragglers in the system. Maybe we can catch them before they get another chance to strike."

Kreia, who sat in the seat across from his, couldn't be bothered. Her focus was elsewhere, resting out beyond the burning starship just outside her viewport. Vrook tried to hone in on what might have caught her attention, but found nothing: not on the planet, not on the ships in orbit around it. The fact that anything could draw her attention away from the disaster unfolding in front of their eyes—well, _his_ eyes—prompted some due curiosity.

"Where are you?" Vrook asked, snidely. "You're certainly not in here with me."

The old woman's finger drifted up towards the transparisteel. "Out there," Kreia said. "Something… I'm not sure what it is, but it won't let me look anywhere else." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "It's screaming out for someone. Anyone."

"I don't sense anything," Vrook replied, unamused. "Is someone in danger?"

"Not in danger," she said. "Just… _empty_. It cries out for some greater purpose. A connection. For an escape."

Vrook snickered. "Deralia isn't known for its commerce or pleasing environment. Are you sure you aren't hearing the thoughts of the whole?"

Kreia shook her head absently. "No. Just a voice strong enough to be mistaken as such."

The view behind the glass shifted away as Vrook and Kreia's transport began to power up its engines.

 _"The vessel will be entering Deralia's atmosphere shortly,"_ the captain's voice chimed through the intercom. _"I'm going to be moving us away to avoid any instrumentation interference from the impact."_

"Understood," Vrook replied. "Has everyone been evacuated from the blast zone?"

_"From what I'm hearing, it's not going too well. Republic personnel are falling back to safety with those they could save. There were just too many. Not enough time to get everyone out."_

The news had been expected, but no less easier to deal with. Vrook sighed and crossed his arms beneath the sleeves of his robe. He had hoped for a better outcome than this; he had hoped to catch the terrorists in the act. Another day, perhaps.

He groaned. It was always another day. "Very well. Take us planetside as soon as we get the all clear from the fleet."

 _"Aye, sir."_ The intercom clicked off.

"Well, this is certainly a proper mess," Vrook said. "I get the feeling the Council will become more involved in this matter than they had hoped. Meanwhile, our target has eluded us yet again—if this was indeed the same group's handiwork. Either way, this can only aid their goals. They might even get another chance to attack one of our ships."

Kreia pulled back the cowl of her robe, revealing her whitened and sightless gaze. Though her eyes had grown useless over the years, she could still see that which was most important to her: the living, breathing energy that surrounded and penetrated every living being in the galaxy. It spoke to her intensely, and as long as she listened there was nothing she couldn't look upon with her mind's eye.

Vrook knew this because she had told him as much many, many times before.

"Kreia?" Vrook said, trying to get her attention. "I'd value your opinion on this matter, if I could somehow afford it."

The old woman sighed, her voice trembling with emotion. It almost sounded as though she were about to cry. "I'm sorry, my friend. A presence down there: its call is overpowering. I see not the planet, the stars, nor the Living Force that flows between them. In my mind, they're all drowned in the shadow of this being." Her hand pressed up against the transparisteel window. "We must go to it."

Vrook coughed into his hand and let his old friend continue believing what she wanted to believe. True, the woman's lack of vision had allowed her to see the Force clearer than most Jedi Masters in the Order ever could, but maybe such raw input compromised her feelings, made her see things that weren't there... Maybe.

Vrook said, "Perhaps the terrorist is down there. Maybe after planting that bomb on the ship, he landed down there to watch the show."

"This was not the work of a terrorist," Kreia whispered, as the derelict's earthstrike tore a scar of white light and ash across the face of the world. "This was the will of the Force, my friend."

Through it all, even as the chaos reached its climax, she still looked out through the viewport, as if whatever she had been absorbed by still yet endured.

* * *

Deralia was one of the most populated worlds beyond the Outer Rim, but this is not saying much. Most planets of the region were hardly anything more than a small settlement or a science facility. Here, though, the Republic had listed the world as having a total of forty-two unique Human colonies scattered about its red and rocky surface—six of which had been wiped out in the ensuing chain reaction of the warship's impact.

Afterward, when the dust began to settle, the rescue operations were conducted on moral grounds, rather than diplomatic. Deralia was independent and largely unaware of the Republic's greater influences. The emergency response fleet would have been well within their rights to abandon the planet completely after the accident, but they didn't, knowing the indirect influence they'd had on the denizens. This disaster might have been the terrorist's doing, but it had been a Republic vessel.

The emergency response fleet didn't have to pick up the pieces, they _wanted_ to.

The crews of the fleet landed in full force to treat the injured and look for survivors, though waiting for the radiation to die down would take a few days. Camps were set up around the fringe of the blast zone. Medicine and food were made readily available, as well as kolto baths for the critically wounded.

Kreia and Vrook walked these camps once over to offer their assistance, but Vrook couldn't completely gain his companion's full focus on anything anymore, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn't aggravated—no, that would be a waste of emotion on such a small thing. Perhaps he was casually annoyed, but he would never admit it, not even to himself; his well-earned stubbornness wouldn't allow it. Never.

"Master Kreia," Vrook began, "what will it take to bring your thoughts back to the present? I'd hate to think that I'll be handling the situation all by myself."

Kreia finally made eye contact him, a form of courtesy coming from a blind woman. "Forgive me, my friend," she said, smiling. "I am here with you, but there are forces much larger than us at work on this planet." Her arm rose up towards the blast zone. "We must go out there and find whatever calls to us. I believe _that_ is why we have been brought here."

 _"Brought_ here?" Vrook snorted. "You still believe this anomaly's presence, as well as ours, is the work of the Force?"

"Make no mistake," she replied. "The paths before us, my _very_ old friend, have just extended out beyond the horizon."

"Ha! Last time I checked, you had not weathered the storms of time any better than I."

Kreia laughed under her breath. "Precisely, Master Vrook. We have seen many years and fought many battles. Facts that the Council is not likely to overlook when we return hoping to break the Code."

The old man sighed. There was no chance of escaping his fate as co-conspirator in the woman's scheme. Not now, anyway. He wondered if he should have stayed on Dantooine. "What would you have me do, Kreia?" he asked, sincerely. "I know there'll be no changing your mind."

"Nothing too dastardly," she replied, her smile as wide as ever. "Steal us a speeder, would you?"

* * *

The Jedi had been driving for hours and the scenery hadn't changed a bit in that time. The landscape continued to stretch out into the horizon in the form of various collections of red rock and dust. The only unique characteristic of the area was the wispy mushroom cloud that rose up from the blast zone. Occasionally, they'd hover over a fragment of the decimated warship, but their trip on the whole was surprisingly quiet and unhindered.

Vrook drove as fast as he could with Kreia's pointing finger as his only guide. He didn't like having to steal from an emergency operation when so many lives were at stake, but he knew that sometimes the rules and fates of many things had to be bent in order to accommodate the will of the Force. Still, he piloted the speeder with a grim look on his face that even his companion could surely sense; he was still very much uncertain about this whole thing.

"Angry, are we?" Kreia purred. "All these years and it's still so hard for you to make these necessary detours."

Vrook quickly snapped, "I'm not angry. I just don't like walking into anything without knowing what I'm getting into. I'm going out of my way to be very mindful of the situation, but you're not helping matters by keeping things to yourself."

"You know it's nothing I can explain to you," she replied. "Think of all we've seen. In the story of our lives, sometimes we can't always see what's on the next page, but doing nothing about it will not progress the plot. "

"That might be the difference between you and I. Maybe you enjoy the mystery of a good story, but when I read, I always look ahead."

Before the woman could reply, her body quivered suddenly. "We're close. Over that ridge! Just there!"

"All right, all right. Calm down, I'll get you there."

The speeder ascended a small trail that led to the top of a wide mesa, and they were suddenly confronted with the most unobstructed view of the disaster area since their trip planetside. They were so overwhelmed by the sight of the disaster that they almost ran right into—

"Stop!" Kreia shrieked and the vehicle came to such a drastic stop that the two were nearly thrown into the dashboard. When they recovered, she pushed her whitened hair off of her face and said, "Nicely done, my friend."

The old man's hand moved up to his heart, and he treated himself to some deep panic breaths. "Thank you, Kreia." His composure regained, he joined his companion in focusing in on the obstacle in their path.

Not more than a half a meter away from the front of the speeder, a young boy stood placid and silent with his attention directed towards the mushroom cloud in the distance. His eyes communicated concern, loss, sadness— but nothing to indicate the fear of almost being run down by a speeder. He looked just as distracted as Kreia had been all day.

The boy was naked, save for a rag of tattered and singed cloth that was tied around his waist. His head was clean shaven and his eyebrows were nearly burned off. Even as the two elderly companions approached him, he made no attempt to move or break his stare.

"Hello there, young man," Kreia greeted, gently. "What are you doing all the way out here by yourself?"

The boy didn't reply, but he didn't need to. His story was beginning to unfold before Vrook and Kreia the more they looked him over and probed his thoughts—as strangely difficult as it was to accomplish this. The Force was very strong with the youngling; it almost seemed to shelter him in a tightly woven embrace that would hardly yield to the Masters standing in its presence.

"You knew this would happen," said Kreia, motioning out towards the blackened expanse on the horizon. The boy nodded vacantly. "You tried to warn your family of this, didn't you? But they wouldn't listen. Am I correct?"

Another nod from the boy, but this time it seemed to shake loose emotions that he had been fighting back for some time. He cried until his eyes went red, the tears moving across his ash-covered skin, cleansing it. Without warning, he threw himself into Kreia's arms and buried his head in her robes.

"I tried," the boy whimpered. "I tried, but they yelled at me! I don't know why!" He wiped the saliva out from under his nose with his bare arm. "I wish I had stayed…"

"Don't you think that," Kreia cut him off. "You did the best you could. Don't you dare condemn yourself for that. Look at me." She delicately tilted his head up with her fingertips. "One life was saved because of your actions. Even if that life was your own, cherish that spirit—because it burns brightly within you."

When the boy hugged the woman again, Vrook interrupted the moment as politely as he could. "We can't stay here," he said. "We'll take the boy back to the camp and get him looked over. Come on, before the missing speeder starts to present a problem for the rescue workers."

Kreia's blank, pearl-white eyes revealed themselves. "You know we're not leaving him, Vrook. He's sensitive to the Force, more so than you and I combined. He saw this accident long before it happened. It must have taken him days to get all the way out here. _Days_ , Vrook."

With a snort, Vrook crossed his arms and tapped his foot in the dust impatiently. He didn't like how things were developing, though he had to admit, a youngling predicting an event so long a time beforehand was... _impressive_. "He's too old, Kreia. What good is the Jedi Code if we're not going to adhere to it?"

"We're taking him back to the Enclave." There was no room for argument in her tone. Kreia's mind was made up. "If he is not to be trained, then it will be a decision made by the majority on Dantooine. But we both know he won't be denied."

The three of them stood in silence for a long while with the sun setting behind them, their shadows growing longer and longer by the second. There was no avoiding what had to come next and, before long, Vrook fully gave in. His stoic and annoyed expression shifted away into a look of complete surrender.

He had known Master Kreia for a very long time. Long enough to know that he'd already lost this battle.

"I guess you'll be going with us then," he said to the child. "What's your name, boy?"

Looking up into the light, the boy said through quivering lips, "Revan."

And the Force trembled with resolve.


	3. I: Peace is a Lie, There is Only Passion

_Make no mistake, reader, as to the reason this document exists. My intention is not to make you privy to all that I have long held secret. No. There is reason behind how the Unknown World became the object of my obsessions, just as how it will become the object of the galaxy's despair. This heavenly body has much to teach us in its silence and decay. It screams out into the abyss that the mighty and the invincible will fall. And that it is not a possibility; it is an absolute._

_All that the senators, the commonwealth, and even the Jedi themselves have fought to build will come crumbling down into the dark. They will rise from the ashes with blood in their eyes and hate in their hearts and they will look to me as the harbinger of their demise. Their collective passion will pass to me, and I will revel in it._

_But it is not the leaf that guides the wind. The leaf is only an object that makes one take notice of an event you cannot see or touch. It is but a messenger at the mercy of all that must come naturally. Far too many resist this, even though it is something that cannot and will not change by mere show of force or touting of conviction. That is all I hope to accomplish in this life: To doom all that do not embrace the nature of progression to scatter hopelessly into the wind._

-Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith

_The Rakata and the Unknown World_


	4. The Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Sometimes swirling Force is just swirling Force. It gets all us old Jedi excited at our age so we go, 'Oooo, destiny!'"_
> 
> -Jolee Bindo (3,956 BBY)

"Silence, my child, carries an underlying secret. Calm your body, be aware of all that flourishes around you, and give no thought to the sparks of reason beginning to come alive within your mind, they are easily ignored. For all that is and will ever be has never needed a reason for being."

The winds carried gently across the plains of Dantooine, rustling the endless, rolling fields to its sway. The grassy expanse moved like a calmed sea, and the two moons on the western horizon broke up what was otherwise a flawless, bright blue sky. It was a perfect day, but the instructor and her pupil couldn't look at it as anything more or less striking than the day that preceded it, or the day that would follow. Everything had a purpose: every moment, every creature, every plant.

It was all beautiful. It was all connected. And it all became one in their gaze.

Revan's eyes snapped open at the shock of the experience. He shifted around in the tall grass in which he and his instructor sat and couldn't resist smiling at what he'd just seen. "I looked into it," he said incredulously.

"Very good," Kreia replied. "At the rate you're moving along, I'm surprised you couldn't see it sooner."

"It just keeps going," Revan pressed on, ignoring his teacher's comment. "I could almost see myself on the other side."

"Nothing is empty in this universe, my young apprentice. Nothing is wasted and nothing ever ends. Everything shares a bond in some form or another. Perhaps some not as deeply as others, but _everything_ is connected." The old woman stood up, letting her arms rest at her side and her fingers dangle among the tall blades of grass.

She continued. "To become closer to the Force is to obtain a sense of clarity that extends far beyond what you can see before you. When you are stronger, and wiser, there will not be a thing that won't yield to your scrutiny."

Revan smiled and tilted his head back, letting his long, black hair flutter in the breeze. His hand reached up to touch the slender braid in the midst of his locks: the sign of his rank in the Order. Every time he took notice of it, he grew disappointed. "You set your goals for me far too high, and far too often. How can you be so sure I'll be able to meet any of them?"

Without a word, Kreia began to walk the worn path through the grass they had made to their spot that morning. She didn't speak again until Revan was obediently in tow. "I have faith in you, Revan. Everyone in this galaxy holds a unique destiny. Some will become renowned. Others will pass on under darkness. I know that the Force has granted you this path of excellence, and that it will only brighten from here."

"But where does it end?" Revan asked, innocently, not expecting a tangible answer of any sort. "Can you see what will become of me?"

The old woman shrugged. "The end is all that I see, Revan," she said. "And the light that shines from it makes me weak. As weak as these old bones have ever been."

Kind words, but Revan had heard them all before. For as long as he could remember, Kreia treated him as though he could do no wrong in the eyes of the Force and the Order. His fate was already mapped and sealed—and, apparently, infinitely bright. He knew better. If so much could be so certain, then the warnings of falling prey to the dark side would hold no meaning.

 _Destiny_. He loathed the word. Clinging to such a belief left no room for accountability. It blurred the lines and made everything the Jedi stood for hollow. They were known as Keepers of the Peace throughout the galaxy, but what ultimate purpose could they serve if the galaxy will do what it has always done?

The Order meant everything to Revan. Which is why he did his best not to let such an abstract concept like destiny unravel all that he had come to believe in.

"I sense some discomfort," Kreia called back to her apprentice. "Is something the matter?"

"No, Master Kreia," Revan answered quickly. He should have known better than to think on the subject so intensely. "Meditating on your words. That's all."

The Jedi Master took amusement at this. "They are not _my_ words. All that I can possibly do for you is pass down the teachings of the Order as they were passed down to me. It is up to you to discover their importance within the context of your life once you leave this place. Only then will you become one with the Force."

* * *

The scene outside the Jedi Enclave was reminiscent of a regular farmer's market. Tents, tarps and cloth overhangs cluttered the path that led up to the main entrance of the sprawling facility. Merchandise of all kinds were being offered up at prices that each and every one of the vendors claimed were "fair" and "the lowest on the planet." And that might have been true; Dantooine was positioned just far enough away from major shipping lanes to make selling anything here inconvenient.

Any merchants who frequented the planet would often refer to some long-held tradition as their purpose for setting up shop on such a remote world. "Dantooine has always been kind to me," being a response that could be considered a poor tell by a rookie smuggler, or the honest word of a stubborn traveler. In any case, the local farmers, artists, and craftsmen depended on this makeshift market for much needed supplies and a steady stream of credits.

It was all a very important practice, and such was the reason it hardly moved anywhere but under the shadow of the Jedi Enclave: much needed security.

One of the first lessons that Revan had been taught when he was brought to Dantooine was that the Jedi were not soldiers or police. They were not here to settle marital disputes or fights over the exact position of property lines, both of which were common cases that were continuously brought before Masters, Knights and Padawans alike.

There were guard-stations and overhead patrols around the planet, but there was no one tightly-knit community anywhere on the grassy plains, which made it difficult to bring order where it was demanded. It was no surprise that many turned to the Jedi to balance out the inadequacies of the law. And why shouldn't they? The Jedi were viewed as the pinnacle of justice throughout the galaxy. If there was any one entity that could bring absolute justice to their grievance, it would be the Jedi. The way the settlers viewed the situation, why go to the guards when there was an entire colony of _Keepers of the Peace_ nearby?

Despite constant declarations and speeches by nearly every Master of the Enclave to the settlers that their job was not to enforce small infractions of the law, it always managed to fall on deaf ears. The great tragedy, Master Vrook once told Revan, was that the Jedi must never turn anyone away. All claims must eventually be taken into consideration and rejected based on their merit, but not _before_ meeting with the settler. And the queue was always growing.

With such a large gathering outside the facility, it was no surprise to Kreia or Revan that a small crowd of people broke away from the market on an intercept course with the Jedi.

"Master Jedi!" a woman with grayed and tangled hair called out. "Master Jedi, a moment of your time!"

Another in the crowd, this one a man, shouted louder to drown out the woman. "Jedi, I need your help, huh? Those Aneko boys on the plot just south from mine keep taking blaster shots at my livestock. Came to you all about this two weeks ago and nothing came of it."

Then he, too, was drowned out by other allegations of wrongdoing from the crowd that surrounded him. Kreia didn't respond to a one of them. She held out a hand to keep the crowd from advancing any further, pushing out with the Force to accentuate her command. The crowd came to a stuttered stop.

"You may take your claims to the gatekeeper," Kreia said loudly. "We will attend to you as soon as humanly possible. Please try to remember that this is a school, not a courthouse." She motioned for Revan and continued walking to the main gate. "I highly suggest that you see to your local guard-station in the meantime."

There were more protests, but the two Jedi could do nothing but politely ignore each of them. When they reached the main entrance to the Enclave, the gatekeeper promptly allowed the Master and Padawan inside before shutting the heavy metal door behind them.

"They're getting more persistent every season," the gatekeeper mused. "You'd think after decades of neutrality on our part, they'd ease up at some point."

Kreia sighed, patting the gatekeeper on the shoulder. "All we can do is remain true to ourselves. As long as our teachings aren't interfered with, we shall see to their needs at the door."

"Yes, Master Kreia," the man replied with a bow. "A good day to the both of you."

"And to you."

"Last day on the gate until next month. Maybe if Revan wants to take over the rest of my shift…"

Revan smiled and jokingly picked up his pace. "Not on your life," he called back before turning to Kreia. "I have to get to my next class. Thank you for today's lesson, Master Kreia. It will not be forgotten." He bowed quickly and skipped into a jog.

His teacher managed to plant a pleasant feeling in his mind just then: a feeling of pride though the Force. He was always glad that he had ended up as Kreia's apprentice. With anyone else, he might have gone crazy within the span of a week. The old woman was motherly, and compromising. She knew his strengths, weaknesses, and intentions, and because of this, she let him get away with a lot more than he should have rightly been able to over the years.

His other instructors, however, were not so forgiving. Revan was already late for his class with Master Vrook. Punishment, in this case, was inevitable.

* * *

"This Enclave is your home. It is your sanctuary. Your school. Your job. Your life." Vrook paced before the class, his forehead wrinkled as his wide-eyed gaze scanned each and every student before him. "You will spend a healthy portion of your life here as you are made more knowledgeable allies of the Force, and some of you may spend even more of it here as teachers yourselves."

Crossing his arms, he turned his attention to Revan, who was seated in the front row. "Therefore, it puzzles me to no end how _any_ of you manage to show up late to class."

Revan had no say in the matter. He had an excuse, but he knew it was not one the old man would accept. This was a test. It was always a test with Vrook. Though, why the Master Jedi always took exception with Revan was beyond him.

"Did I say you could stop?" Vrook asked Revan with the slightest hint of a threat.

"No, Master." Revan continued to manipulate the stylus across the touchboard at the front of the room through the Force. He continued on with another row, dictating the same sentence over and over again: _I will not be late to class._ His only reaction was pity over how despicably unoriginal Vrook could be at even the best of times.

Vrook could probably sense Revan's mental mockery, which would explain why he cleared the board and grunted, "Start again." As the writing resumed, the instructor turned back to his class. "While our class truant fills up the board a second time, we'll get back to the lesson at hand."

He waved a finger in the air as he began. "I pose to each of you this deceptively simple question. Take all the time you need, because I want well thought out answers. Who in this class can tell me if the Force is an absolute good?" Confusion bloomed throughout the class. "Yes, Edel. What have you to say?"

The girl lowered her hand and nervously tucked her arms away beneath her robe. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, the Force is an absolute good."

"Oh?" Vrook leaned up against the touchboard, blocking Revan's stylus from progressing any further. "Now, how do you figure that?"

"Because, ah… Because the Jedi are an absolute good. The Jedi are allies of the Force… Therefore, um, the Force is an absolute good?" Her voice squeaked. She honestly didn't know. This annoyed Revan, who was already getting fed up with his punishment.

"Interesting point, Edel." Vrook's eyes snapped to Revan once again. "There might as well be a rain cloud over your head, Revan. Have something to say on this matter?"

Revan shrugged. "Something." He didn't turn his attention away from the stylus and the touchboard.

"Well?" Vrook asked, but the Padawan ignored him. "You can put the stylus down if that will make you easier to talk to."

The stylus dropped immediately. Revan stood up from his seat. "The Force is _not_ an absolute good."

Edel shrunk in her seat.

Their instructor didn't seem convinced. "Will you bless us with an elaboration, _my liege_? Or will you continue pouting?"

Revan continued, ignoring the insults. "If the Force can be manipulated to facilitate the will of the dark side, then it is not an absolute good. It's corruptible. Easily persuaded." He turned to Edel. "And as Jedi, we are just as susceptible."

The words caused whispered discussions throughout the class. Vrook patiently waved his hand to put an end to this. "It does not sound like you have a very high opinion of the Order. Am I wrong in this assumption?"

"Yes, Master, you are wrong," Revan replied. "There is nothing in the galaxy I hold higher than the teachings of the Order. But believing the Way of the Jedi to be immutable and infallible is a flawed way of thinking."

Vrook nodded, but very reluctantly. It seemed he was thinking over Revan's words as much as the class was—albeit, in that brooding fashion he'd become renowned for. "Then if we are, as you say, mutable _and_ fallible then how can we possibly make any decisive victory over the likes of the dark side or the Sith that follow it?"

The question prompted Revan to think for a moment. He stood absolutely still at the front of the class, his brow scrunched in thought. The rest of the class held their breath for any answer that could come. They had never been disappointed in the past when their fellow classmate was called out to defend their way of life, and they always learned a thing or two from it.

"It's not the victory over the Sith we must worry about," said Revan. "That's never the deciding factor. The _true_ battle is fought within ourselves. _We_ are the defenders of the Force, and _we_ are the only ones in the galaxy who can abuse it." He took a breath. "The True Sith are legend, and have been thousands of years. The Sith we see now, even the likes of Exar Kun, weren't born with the drive to destroy the Jedi way of life. They were only Jedi who failed to defend it."

The class fell silent. Vrook made no move to agree or disagree. Revan flinched, thinking another form of punishment was being thought up. "I want you all to meditate on what was said here today," Vrook finally said. "Be prepared to discuss the subject tomorrow. I want educated responses from all of you." After a quick wave of his arm, he muttered, "Dismissed." He was the first to leave the room.

* * *

Three exams within the next week, and only two days to study for the first. Revan made his way to the Archives with a datapad in his hand. His eyes scanned as many bare facts as he could and committed them to memory. There would be time for intense study later; for now, he insisted on a primer course. And considering his first exam would focus on the Great Hyperspace War, he knew that taking every opportunity to cram for it would help.

Because simply taking a pleasant walk to the Archives would be a waste of valuable study time.

Suddenly, the datapad flipped out of his hand. He followed its flight and found his old friend snatching it out of the air, playfully scrolling through the information it held.

"It appears you are ill-prepared, for once," Malak said, smiling. "Might this be the one time I actually get a higher score than you on the history exam?"

Revan laughed fiendishly. "If only the first off the starting line always took home the gold. _Then_ , perhaps, we'd see that day, my brother."

"Hmph. I still say your scores would come up short if you didn't have _her_ tutoring you in the Archives all the time."

"I fail to see what you mean. If a resource is at your disposal, then you should be compelled to take advantage of it."

"Intelligence usually wins the war more often than mere resources, I think."

Revan continued walking. "You're just jealous."

"Deny it all you like," Malak sighed. "Just remember that I see through you like a window on a clear day. You can hide those feelings from her, the Masters, and everyone else, but not from me." He shrugged, probably accepting his words would have little impact on the matter. "Just be careful, all right?"

Revan teasingly rubbed Malak's naturally-bald and tattooed scalp. "I appreciate it, Malak, but you have no need to worry. If there is one thing out there in the galaxy that might end me, it will certainly not be the uptight bookworm, Bastila Shan. I'll see you back at the dorm."

"Right," Malak said with a nod. "Long night ahead of us, then?"

"Indeed."

"Should I ask Meetra along again?"

Revan continued on toward the Archives. "Try as you might and hope for the miracle we've been waiting for. We owe her that much."


	5. A House of Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Definition: 'Love' is making a shot to the knees of a target one hundred and twenty kilometers away using an Aratech sniper rifle with a tri-light scope. Statement: This definition, I am told, is subject to interpretation. Obviously, love is a matter of odds. Not many meatbags could make such a shot, and fewer would derive love from it."_
> 
> -HK-47 (3,951 BBY)

Kreia's room was dark, as always. Vrook knew that light meant very little to the blind, but he couldn't help but wonder if she left the lamps dimmed just to throw him off. It wouldn't have surprised him. Not in the least.

He stumbled around a few chairs and piles of old tomes before he finally called out into the darkness, "Are you just going to leave me like this?"

A feminine laugh rose up from somewhere deep in the room. "I thought you'd be used to me leaving you in the dark by now, old friend."

Vrook rolled his eyes. "I'm in no mood for these games. I must speak with you about your Padawan."

"Oh?" Kreia's voice was closer now, louder. "We've discussed Revan's academics nearly once a standard week since he was admitted into the Academy. What troubles you this time, Vrook? Has he finally exceeded even _your_ expectations?"

Vrook turned away, hiding his tensed hands beneath the sleeves of his robe. It's not anger, he told himself. "I may protest, but I've not denied your favorite students any of their extravagant requests. I protested Revan and Malak's incessant travels to the Coruscant Temple. I protested their embrace of the juyo lightsaber form. I protest, but I never deny, and now I must protest again. Humor me."

Kreia's hand fell upon Vrook's shoulder. "Very well. Please speak your mind. You know I always value what you have to say concerning any of our students."

"It's his outlook on the Force," the old man began. "His perception of the dark side, and how clear it is. I've never heard a Padawan give an answer to a question that most Knights and lesser Masters can't even comprehend. Not in all my years."

"This boy is special." Kreia had given this stock explanation countless times already. "He was birthed into the chaos beyond the Rim, tainted by a merciless act of fate, and cleansed by a life of civility. Revan has already come to bear witness to the unyielding will of the Force in a way that your Knights and Masters might _never_ experience. And in that sense, he is free."

Vrook grew weary of that speech, mostly because of how true it rang within his mind. "I just don't like it. I don't like how in-tune the boy is with everything and everyone around him. Ever since he befriended Malak, the two of them manage nearly perfect scores for every exam they've taken. And now the same is happening with Sunrider's apprentice, Meeta Surik."

"A truly awe-inspiring triumvirate if I ever saw one." Kreia smiled.

Vrook snorted. "As I said, I just don't like it. Padawans acknowledging the true threat of the dark side, while still so young, is disturbing to me. I just don't want a collective of students graduating from this Academy only to turn around and go the way of Exar Kun."

"Ah, my friend." She led Vrook gently out into the main hallway, walking side-by-side like they had done ritually in years passed. "You must stop worrying. Should those three students of ours ever work together in the way I've seen, this galaxy might actually see a few decades of much needed peace."

* * *

She could feel him watching, even across the courtyard proper. Meetra didn't dare look up from her datapad to meet his eyes; she knew even a basic form of contact would give him ideas. So, instead, she focused in on the information streaming across the device in her hand, going so far as to hum the words aloud to keep her mind in check. But it didn't work.

She groaned. This Mical was an odd one.

With the intent of being discreet, Meetra slowly shifted around on her seating pad, digging her feet into the lawn to direct herself in a different direction. Even if she couldn't stop the boy from watching her every action, perhaps she could at least grant herself the freedom of being able to look up without making eye contact.

When her spin was complete, she tilted her head up, cracking the tension from her neck that had built from keeping her head angled downward for so long. It was a tremendous relief, but it didn't change the fact that the boy was still staring her down from the hallway at the edge of the courtyard. She could feel it: as obvious and intense through the Force as a blaster bolt aimed at her forehead.

With a mournful sigh, Meetra pocketed her datapad and stood up in the grass. There was no chance of getting any studying done like this. Perhaps locking herself in her dorm room would ensure some privacy, though the environment was less than relaxing. It was a trade-off she was willing to take.

Before she could even turn around, the blond-haired boy was bearing down on her. His eyes fluttered with nervousness and his stride was erratic, as if he couldn't figure out whether he should run or continue on. Meetra desperately tried to sway the boy away through the Force, but it was too late.

Mical greeted her with a quick bow.

"Good afternoon, Meetra. It's very nice to see you." Mical's accent was still marked with a dignified tone not uncommon with the Tarisian upper class. It was only a remnant, though. Like all other younglings brought to the Academy, their native tongues and accents would eventually blend into flat Basic. Meetra marveled that the boy was able to hold onto his formal inflection for so long.

Meetra bowed in return. It was only polite to do so. "Good afternoon, Mical," she said. "What can I do for you?"

The boy shook his head. "Oh, nothing at all. Was just passing through to West Campus. It's such a beautiful girl outside, and I thought I'd come join you." When his comment prompted a raised brow from Meetra, he backtracked mentally until he discovered his slip, to his horror. His eyes widened. "Beautiful _day_! It's a very beautiful g— _day_ out… today… How has your _day_ been so far?"

"Well, so far it's been a very annoying boy."

"What?"

"I said it's been a very annoying day so far."

"Oh?" Mical rocked back onto his heels. "Don't mean to pry, but why might that be?"

Meetra sighed. As much as she wanted to turn tail and run back to her room, she just couldn't. She wasn't the monster that she dearly wished she was. "Our class has an exam coming up about the Great Hyperspace War. It'll be my last written exam before…" She tugged at the braid hanging from her fiery-red hair and smirked.

"Really?" The boy seemed genuinely excited. "You think that you'll be attaining the rank of _Knight_ soon? That's wonderful!"

"I don't know for sure, Mical. That's at the Masters' discretion. Padawans have been known to take these exams three times over before they're awarded their rank." She bit her lip. "Though Revan, Malak and I _are_ at the top of our class." For some reason, it relaxed her to say this out loud. "It's possible."

"You'll pass," Mical said matter-of-factly. "I know you will."

Meetra grinned. She was nearing her twenty-first birthday and the Padawan who stood before her was, at least, four years her junior. Even with how much he followed her around, she couldn't help but find him slightly charming in the way he cared. "And just how do you know this?"

As Mical searched for the words, his face lit up red and his eyes turned down to the grass at their feet. "I just know. Only the best of the best become Knights at your age. And you're one of the best," he said. "You taught me and the rest of my class to hear _the song_. Nothing I've ever learned from my Masters has ever come close to being as important to me."

Meetra wasn't sure if she regretted indulging Mical's class in a little accelerated learning, but she wished that the boy hadn't taken it as such a personal affair. "Everyone can hear it, Mical. You've been listening to it your whole life. It's the same song the Force has sung since the beginning to time." She could feel herself getting caught up in her own words, so she cut them short. "Your Masters would have taught it to you eventually."

"Maybe."

"How do you think I came to hear it?"

The boy shrugged off the thought. "I don't think it's the same."

"Why's that?" Meetra asked.

"Well," he began. "I don't think the others in my class hear the same song. What I hear is more gentle and heavenly. Because whenever I stop to listen to the Force sing, it sings to me in _your_ voice."

"Ah, I see." Meetra nodded absently and began to sidestep away from the boy. The discomfort that had settled within her form began to swell and scream at her. "That's very interesting. Perhaps that's a problem on my end. I had better go and meditate on this, just in case my voice is invading some other hapless Padawan's mind."

"Oh." Mical nodded. "Oh, okay. I'll see you in class, then?"

"If the Force wills it. So much to do this week, but I'll see if I can stop by. _Soooo_ much to do."

"All right then." Mical bowed. "May the Force be with—" When he raised his head, Meetra was already half way across the courtyard, leaving him standing alone, wondering what he did wrong.

* * *

"With the Republic's discovery of the True Sith on Korriban, the resulting Great Schism spread across the galaxy. After a marvelous work of deception by the newly-crowned Dark Lord of the Sith, Naga Sadow, he managed to take his invasion all the way to the heart of Coruscant. Look here." Bastila directed Revan's attention to an illustration in her book, in which row upon row of Jedi with early incarnations of the lightsaber stood fast against an approaching wave of Sith warriors.

Revan didn't bat an eye. His attention was elsewhere.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Bastila asked, her face turning up into a look of confusion.

"Has anyone ever told you how cute you look when you talk about smart things?"

"Please," she replied, rolling her eyes. "If you're not going to take this seriously then there are other students I could be helping."

"None more desperate than I, Bastila Shan," Revan said in a mock-serious tone. Discontent swelled within the room just then. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Look, I have everything you said written down." He desperately held up his datapad. "See?"

She didn't take his word for it, and snatched up the device to look over its contents. Instead of random notes or juvenile sketches, what she found actually seemed to impressed her. "These are rather detailed notes, Revan. Almost word for word what I've said." She pushed her copper bangs out of her eyes and looked back to her textbook. "Very well, then I suggest we move on. We have a lot of material to cover."

"That sounds superb." Revan rested his head in his hands, looking at his tutor with a pleasant look on his face.

"Really, Revan? You're going to do this the _entire_ time?" Her tone dripped with annoyance.

Revan waved the question away. "Come on, Bastila, you know I'm just kidding with you."

"About the stares or my being cute?"

"Um." The young man fumbled with his datapad nervously. She had him trapped. "The stares, of course, miss lady."

"Hmm." Bastila closed her book and moved to stand up. "I can't do this. I really want to help you, but… I just _can't_."

Revan blocked her escape. "Whoa, whoa. What's this?"

The girl looked around the Archives. No one was around. She had chosen a table off in the far corner of the building, behind the shelves lined with obscure foreign texts containing religious overviews and culinary guides. Of course no one was around. "I just can't continue on like we mean something. We _can't_ mean something."

Revan asked, "Why not?"

"It's easy for you to question this because you're only a few days from becoming a Knight. I, meanwhile, have a long way to go in the next few years. There's nothing I want more than to attain that rank, and I won't throw that all away because…" Bastila's voice trailed off.

"Because I kissed you last night?" Revan answered for her. "What was so wrong about that?"

Once again, Bastila took a frantic look around at their surroundings, probably for fear of eavesdroppers. " _Everything_ was wrong with that, Revan. You know the Code even better than I, so how could you even _imply_ nothing was wrong with what you did?"

"What _I_ did? It takes two to play that particular game, Miss Shan, and I don't recall any resistance on your part."

"Just _stop talking_ for one moment!" she hissed through a whisper. "It was a mistake to kiss you last night."

Revan was shocked. "You mean that?"

The girl wrapped her arms around her book and stared off towards the ceiling. It was clear she didn't want this conversation to go any further. "You know I care about you, Revan, but I can't care about you in the way you want me to. I've given everything I am to the Jedi Order and its Code. I hope you understand that I can't up and pull a Bindo because of an adolescent relationship."

"Adoles... What? You talk like you've done this before. Like you're not a girl still in her teens with a hazed view of the galaxy and the Order. Bastila…" Revan's hand reached out and gripped Bastila's. "...I don't _just_ care about you. And I certainly don't believe this is another kind of _adolescent_ relationship. I'm not asking you to _pull a Bindo_ , I'm just asking you not to hide those feelings."

He took Bastila's book away from her and set it on the table so that he could hold both of her hands in his. Unrestrained and unafraid, Revan looked deeply into Bastila's eyes: a gaze that reminded him so fiercely of moonlit fog. Her stare trapped him. He reached out through the Force and brought their connection deeper.

And as they held each other close, Revan was disappointed in what he sensed. A wound in her resolve, a wound that looked to him like a mirror image of himself. The girl had been saddened and conflicted, and she did what any responsible Jedi would do in her position: she tore him from her heart as if he had been parasitic to her spirit.

"You've already made your choice then." Revan said, but Bastila didn't answer or even so much as look him in the eyes. "I won't argue. If this is what you truly want, I won't argue." He let her hands slip from his grasp and turned to walk away. "Love won't doom this galaxy, Bastila," he said at length. "Love is the only thing that can save it."

Revan walked away. Between the shelves of tomes and the modules of incorporeal text that hummed and glowed with energy. He passed other Padawans and young Knights reading silently before he finally reached the exit to the Archives. Across the courtyard, he walked toward North Campus as the sun set behind the Enclave walls. He led his shadow into the dorms, the thoughts of a hundred students echoing through his mind.

But through it all, he couldn't escape her. For as much as he walked, he could still feel her hands in his. He could still see her eyes staring back at him, and feel the tears running down her cheeks.


	6. To Your Dark Obsessions Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Revan was once a promising Padawan. But ever eager to learn more about the Force, Revan sought knowledge of ancient Sith magics, foolishly ignoring the dangerous lure of the dark side."_
> 
> -Master Vrook Lamar (3,956 BBY)

Meetra dimmed the lights to a comfortable level within her room, sitting cross-legged on the center of the floor when she was satisfied. The environment had to be just right. Nothing could stand out, yet nothing could be drowned out in darkness. There had to be balance. That is what meditation was to her: finding the appropriate balance externally as well as internally.

She closed her eyes, and the quiet around her became deafening. Unchecked thoughts of younglings and fellow Padawans in adjoining dorm rooms passed along the fringe of her consciousness like echoes in a hallway. Emotions that did not belong to her pervaded her own. Disgust. Acceptance. Sadness. Lust. These did not belong to her, Meetra reminded herself. Someone else in the Enclave, perhaps, but not her.

She reached out with the Force, persuading it to embrace several items from around her room. A book. A chair. A nearby candle. Each was lifted up into the air, at equal lengths apart, and began to move into a slow orbit around Meetra's body.

She reached out further. Voices sprouted up around her as clearly as if she stood in a crowd. There were complaints, and there was celebration. There was anger, and there was wonder. There was no identity to any of the voices, just emotion in its purest form.

Carefully, she began to add more items to the ring of knickknacks forming around her. A stylus. A pillow…

Her lightsaber…

Using her remaining focus, she used the Force to toggle the activation plate on the hilt, and the room was stained in the bright green light that emanated from her weapon. Though she had yet to open her eyes, the lightsaber she held through the Force could not have been more obvious in her mind's eye. The blade was a part of her, just as much as she was a part of it.

That night seemed so long ago, the night when she, Revan and Malak had set out into the kinrath cave near the edge of the Matale Tract. It had been dark outside, but in the cave everything took on a shadow of its own. They felt ripples in the Force caused by their own anticipation, and they heard whispers that must have been hanging in the air for years: those of students who had already passed the trial long ago and couldn't help but leave a piece of themselves embedded in the Force.

They had been walking a well-worn path.

At the end of the cave, iridescent crystal formations lit up a large hollow covered with kinrath eggs of all sizes. When the kinrath began to awaken to the unwanted presence of the Padawans, Meetra and Revan had kept the creatures at bay with a bit of mystical persuasion, while Malak collected all the eggs he could carry.

When the job was done, they ran as fast as they could toward the exit. Not to escape the stampede of angry insectoids, but so that their mission would finally be accomplished. Their rite of passage.

In the safety of a hilltop grove, the three of them cracked open the eggs one at a time. Disappointment began to set in when they came to the last egg without the result they had been hoping for. But that feeling was quickly banished. "Impossible," Malak had said when the final egg granted them three fully-formed focusing crystals. Finding more than one crystal in an egg was unheard of. But finding three?

"Some might call this destiny," Revan said with quiet conviction, though he had always hated to use that word.

By the time dawn's first light had appeared on the horizon, the three friends each had their newly-constructed lightsabers proudly in hand. Each blade a different color. Green for Meetra, yellow for Malak, and blue for Revan. They activated their weapons at the same time. Hearing the hiss of the energy beams forming at the handgrips in unison had brought shivers to her spine, and the gentle humming sound that they made afterward sent a feeling of pride washing over her.

The three of them couldn't stop smiling the entire day. It had been their beginning, their first step down a road of uncertainty, but one they would be facing together. It was an _empowering_ feeling.

True, the blade was very much a part of her. It wouldn't matter if the weapon was worlds away, she would be able to sense it. A Force bond that would never be broken.

As her mind drifted gently back to the present, she took notice of something off in her surroundings. A disturbance in the Force. It drew nearer, soaking up the images, sensations and emotions passing through her into an amorphous cloud of disarray.

A book fell from the levitating knickknack ring surrounding her.

She fought for concentration. _P_ _eaceful_ concentration. It was becoming more difficult by the second as this disruptive presence approached without slowing.

A candle fell, spilling melted wax across the carpet.

Everything was growing quiet again. _No, no, no!_

A book.

A pillow.

A stone carving of Jori Daragon.

And that was that. Meetra's focus drained from her mind like a waterfall from a mountain basin. Her influence on the Force weakened, and everything that had been held in the air came crashing down around her. Within the span of a second, she had unwillingly trashed her own dorm room.

"Not fair," she muttered depressingly.

The door into her room—the _locked_ door—was ripped open by a Force pull, and in stepped Malak with the happiest expression on his face. The sight of this made Meetra drift beyond annoyance toward anger, but she resisted, taking in long breaths to calm herself.

"What do you want?" she asked through an exhale.

Malak took a look around the room, confused. "Is your room always this messy?"

Another deep breath. " _Yes_ , Malak. Quite often, unfortunately," she said through her teeth. "What do you want?"

"Oh, yeah." Malak moved through the room, kicking a path through the mess, and planted himself on Meetra's bed. "I thought you might like to know…" He directed his attention to the open door to the hallway. With a wave of his hand, the door closed again with an irritating groan. "I thought you might like to know that Revan and I are leaving the Enclave tonight. We were wondering if you'd like to join us."

"Off to learn more obscure techniques from more obscure Jedi, are we?" She shook her head. "That's not for me, Malak. Gallivanting across Republic space to learn something our Archives could teach you just as easily isn't something that sounds appealing."

Malak shrugged and produced his lightsaber from a pocket on his robe. "Can't put a price on firsthand experience, Meetra." He rapidly twirled the handgrip between his fingers in various formations without effort, as if it was floating across his hand. "Anyway, that's not what I meant."

"Ah," Meetra sighed. "You meant the other _that_."

"Indeed. Didn't want to head out there without seeing if you cared to tag along this time."

She smiled. "Flattering, but unnecessary. I told you before that I won't go behind our Masters' backs just to appease Revan's sense of adventure. He can play detective all he wants when we ascend a rank, when we won't have to answer for these little _sidequests_ you two keep digging up."

"It's not like that. It's just a short walk down the hill. We're not going off-world and we're not even leaving the province. No one's ever been kicked out of the Order for taking a little stroll."

"Because no one's ever been stupid enough to tempt expulsion in such a pointless manner. When other Jedi are banished, they have the nerve to do something that merits exile—starting a war, for instance." She stood up. "You give me the impression that you don't see it as a big deal. Then why, Malak, would you _sneak_ out in the middle of the blasted night?"

Malak rubbed a hand across his scalp in contemplation. "I don't know. It's exciting, Meetra. The way Revan talks about those ruins and the way he looks at them… I haven't seen him look at anything so passionately since the day we made our lightsabers."

"Or when he looks at Bastila Shan," Meetra interrupted.

"Yeah, there's that, too," he said, laughing. "Anyway, I had better go meet him." He sat up, brushed himself off and moved back to the door, opening it manually this time. "Are you sure you won't go with us?"

Meetra threw her arms up, about to add to her earlier protests, but cut herself short. " _If_ the two of you find something. I repeat: _if_ you find something, then come and get me. I'm not going to go stare at crumbling ruins for hours, but I'll help the two of you out if something turns up."

Malak replied with a smile.

"Just get out of here," Meetra said with a wave of her hand. When she was finally alone again, she gave herself a minute to center herself. Every time she came into contact with either of those two, she could almost feel the ground beneath her feet quaking, threatening to shred the path toward her destiny into a million different directions. She wouldn't let that happen.

She was in control of her own life. Not Revan.

As the storm within her mind calmed, she looked down, toward the cluttered and messy floor, and sighed.

* * *

Revan had always trusted the teachings of Master Arren Kae. She was a kind and beautiful woman, one with a beauty that transcended the physical and seeped into the very Force that surrounded her. Many Padawans who came into her company often felt contented and relaxed with hardly a reason for it; which explained why she so often tended to the educations of the younglings new to the Academy.

Master Kae could right the chaos in anyone.

The irony, Revan decided, was that of all the lives the Jedi Master had amended in her time, the only life she couldn't fully heal was her own. Everyone lies in some form, be it through voice or emotion or action. Kae's lie was written on her very existence within the Order. Revan figured that he was the only one who knew of her deception, and his reason for not reporting her was simple. Her lie reflected his own, and he could do nothing but sympathize.

Revan could feel it in the Living Force. A bond that tethered Kae to someplace beyond the stars—and it pulled her in two directions.

In one direction: to her husband.

In the other: to her child.

Giving in to forbidden passions, that was reason enough for reprehension with the possibility of expulsion from the Jedi Order. But should any of the other Masters discover she had mothered a child…

Kae wouldn't even be given a moment to breathe. She would be an instant exile.

Revan didn't turn in Master Kae because he could see the world through her eyes, and he found a galaxy worth defending. Because he, too, could foresee himself giving into his passions. He had come to know _love_ and knew that it was more than just a word to be banished from Jedi teachings.

And so, as Revan stood at the courtyard's edge, near the base of the western wall of the Enclave, Master Kae's words echoed through his mind as though she was physically there to speak them:

_As Jedi, we are constantly answering the call of innocents in need. Your will be tasked with traversing the galaxy at a moment's notice. You will be placed in harm's way, fighting for the rights of a being that you may not even know. And you may die in the name of our ideals, and you will become Champions of the Force._

_So take notice of the stars, younglings. Take notice, because nothing is everlasting. Everything, even our own lives, must one day come to an end—though, it will not be here. It will be out there, among the stars._

_So when you look to the night sky, know that you are not looking at mere twilight..._

_You are gazing into your very destiny._

All of Revan's teachers spoke of destiny, even the most wisest among them. He had never cared to believe in a personal fate that couldn't be avoided, but perhaps he had his definition wrong. His view of a destiny was that, in life, there is unique path for everyone to follow. To follow it meant being true to yourself, to your values, morals, talents. Doing so will lead to ultimate fulfillment in your life, a sense of contentment that will likely cling to your spirit forever.

But that path to fulfillment can just as easily be discarded. That was the difference, Revan felt, between him and the Masters. They saw life as a means to an end. He saw life as a journey branched with many roads, where actions mattered more than anything else. In that sense, yes, he could believe in destiny, because even now he believed he could see his path, and it stretched out beyond the Enclave walls, down the hill, and across the river that marked the border of the Sandral Tract.

Those ancient and obscure ruins that lay in shadow at the water's edge: they weren't of a long-departed Republic race or a remnant of the True Sith's presence on Dantooine. They just _were._ And they guided his step, even now.

To what end? That, Revan did not know. But he had to see for himself, and that was his _choice_.

"Are we ready?" Malak's voice came as a whisper through the darkness.

Revan replied, "Have been for a while, brother."

"Sorry for holding us up. Meetra wasn't very keen on coming with us this time."

"But she's starting to warm up to the idea," Revan said, sensing this fact in his friend's hopeful tone.

"Maybe if we find something worthwhile, then she'll join us. Otherwise, I think not."

Revan nodded, slightly disappointed. "Hopefully she'll come around. In the meantime, it's probably best if we stop pestering her."

"Agreed. She didn't seem particularly cheerful."

"No, she's dedicated. And I'm happy for that." Revan turned to the wall. "But let's not talk idly, brother, the hour's getting late."

Malak swayed his arms toward their exit. "After you, kind sir."

The wall stood just under two stories tall, but Revan scaled it in one bound, using the Force to propel his jump. Malak wasn't far behind, and together, they set out at a hastened stride to the west. The moons were beginning their climb into the night sky before them, drenching the endless fields with their pale shine. A slight breeze picked up, drowning out the companions' march in a steady uprising of rustling thickets and the gentle sound of waving grass.

It was a pleasant start.

Moving on down the hill, the two took a different trail to its base, for fear of leaving blatant signs of their travels behind if they took the same route every time. At the bottom, they followed a small ravine for more than a kilometer until they were met with mud and rippling waters. The river. They walked its bank for an hour more, taking their first opportunity to cross it by way of a protruding rock formation that jutted out through the waves. When they reached the other side, they found their robes completely dry, which was a nice change of pace given their previous attempts.

Through it all, wrestling with anticipation was the most difficult part of the journey for Revan. What would they find this night? Maybe nothing. Maybe the one artifact or clue that they had been searching for after so many trips. That telltale sign of what the construct was and why it sat so inconspicuously amongst the plains as if it naturally belonged.

Other searches had yielded no answers, but Revan wasn't even sure if he was asking the right questions. The whole thing seemed like a puzzle just waiting to be solved. He liked that idea. He liked a challenge.

"Is that it?" Malak pointed toward the shadow of a large crag.

Revan nodded. "That's it. Back again, back again."

The ruins could hardly be seen. Against night and shadow, the small temple of black stone was almost invisible. Revan and Malak knew its shape to be round, and each carving set into it was made with inhuman precision. But there was so much they did not know about it. What did the carvings across the face of it mean? Why were there shattered pillars jabbed in the ground leading toward an entrance that was not there?

And the obvious question: Why was it built?

"Let's see what we can find, Malak." Just as Revan started into a jog, he stopped. Malak halted beside him. Both of them froze. The shadow before them was moving and breaking off into a dozen pieces, all of them creeping toward the two Padawans. Growls and clicking jaws rose up from these things.

The moonlight revealed the companions' worst fear. It was a pack of kath hounds, twelve of the beasts. Their eyes flashed red in the light and their teeth gnashed together, signaling their intent.

They drew nearer. Steadily. Each of them waiting for their prey to make its move.

"Let's just back away," Malak hissed. "Slowly. If we make the first move, we can outrun them. Lose them across the river.

Revan analyzed the situation: their probability of winning—and losing; the quickest way to retreat; the best place to mount an attack. He took note of any obstacles he and Malak could use to their advantage.

Then his eyes flicked to the ruins. They were so close. Close enough for the sensual pull from them to seem less like a beckon and more like a screaming demand. He couldn't walk away from this. There was no going back.

"No," Revan finally said. "You won't take this from me."

Malak looked over, as if he wasn't sure who his friend had been talking to. To provide an answer, Revan gestured through the Force and a silvery glint pass through the dark and into his hand—just a second before a loud hiss cut through the air. The sound prompted the kath hounds to lunge forth as one. Revan stood fast against them with lightsaber in hand, the blade coating the field in a solid shade of blue.

Malak rolled his eyes. "Here we go." He called his lightsaber to his hand through the Force, gripped the activation plate, and watched the weapon come alive in front of him.

The Padawans moved into a juyo form, holding their sabers aimed at their enemy, with the handgrips held close their faces.

"Don't give them your back," Revan said. "Keep them clustered."

"Right," Malak replied. "I'll try to remember that if they leave me a leg to stand on."

The first hound sprang forth, eyes locked on Revan's throat. But its approach was cut short. Revan spun on his heels, bringing his saber around and driving its blade through the beast's head.

His first kill. He fought against the bloodlust. If he gave into his passions now, he'd have a legion of sensitive Jedi Masters waiting for him when he returned.

 _Can't have that_ , Revan thought, and brought his lightsaber back down into another kath hound—suppressing the intense urge to smile.


	7. II: Through Passion, I Gain Strength

The Republic was tired of war. The thousands of representatives who held seats in the Galactic Senate cried out for the mercy of peace. Many worlds were still ravaged by the path of destruction Exar Kun had cut across the galaxy over two decades ago, some of which still burned. There was not a soul among them that wanted to see a repeat of such an incident, so they turned to the Jedi.

The Republic's forces were beaten and scattered. Salvage operations were widespread and recruitment levels were at the lowest they had ever been. And in the midst of all this, there were rumors of a brewing war on the edge of Republic space. Rumors that gained more ground in reality everyday.

It all began in the form of distress calls from sovereign worlds out on the Rim. Entire systems had begun to fall silent, and entire races had disappeared from the face of their homeworlds. All signs pointed to the Mandalorians, though the Senate could do nothing but listen for nearly a decade, bound by treaty and territory.

More and more systems fell and were subsequently added to the Mandalorian war machine. It wasn't until the resource world of Taris came under threat that the Senate's hand was forced. The Outer Rim world was granted annexation and the Republic fleet was mobilized to head off the Mandalorian advance at the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith Line.

Meanwhile, the Jedi stepped up to provide their services as Keepers of the Peace in the galaxy and arranged a diplomatic meeting with the Mandalorian high command. A command that stopped at one man: Mandalore the Ultimate.

It would be the last word the Republic was allowed.

* * *

When the Jedi starfighter dropped out of lightspeed, the Master and his Padawan found themselves enclosed on all sides by the entire Mandalorian fleet. Everywhere they looked, the black of space was nearly blocked out by the metallic gleam of thousands of battleships, carriers, and destroyers. Each vessel had an ancient and haphazard style to them, as if they hadn't been constructed with aesthetics in mind, and many had at least one weapon aimed at the Jedi vessel.

The Padawan turned to his Master, sensing the danger around him. "Master Nandrif?"

"Don't worry, boy," the Master replied. "We have nothing to fear."

"I'm not so sure." The young man looked around at the various armaments mounted to the side of each ship. "Those cannons could blast us out of the sky at any moment. We should go back."

Nandrif shook his head patiently. "This comes directly from the Council," he said. "You should be proud. This assignment represents the very essence of what the Jedi Order stands for. Peace. We are to negotiate the Mandalore's surrender, without bloodshed. That's our duty and the very reason that guides us. Keep your eyes open and your mind sharp. This will be a fantastic learning experience for you, Kander."

The young Padawan, Kander, still wasn't convinced.

"Besides," Nandrif continued, "the Mandalorians have a fierce sense of pride. They've allowed us in under our conditions. To fire on us now would be as shooting us in the back, which no Mandalorian would abide. They'd sooner turn a blaster on themselves."

Their starfighter drifted through the thick of the fleet until they were flanked by two escorts, who led them down towards the capital ship at the center of the massive formation. Every bit of the way, the Padawan couldn't help but stare, unnerved, at the various weapon batteries that kept a constant lock on their ship. His master laughed under his breath. Kander knew his apprehension wasn't under control—any first-year youngling could probably sense that now—but that didn't keep him from holding on to his thoughts. He couldn't afford not to.

The escort broke off and Nandrif maneuvered their fighter through an airshield and onto a large, emptied hangar deck on the capital ship. With expert precision, the Master landed their vessel without rocking the cabin. "Another happy landing," he said lightheartedly, trying to perk his apprentice's spirits. It didn't work.

The two Jedi departed the starfighter and positioned themselves in the open to display no ill intentions.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Kander muttered.

"I don't sense anything."

"It's not here, Master. It's something… elsewhere."

"Do try not to get distracted. The mind can be deceived. Keep your focus on the Living Force and all that's taking place before you."

Kander took a breath and shifted his focus to the steelshine of the hangar bay. "Yes, Master."

A hatch into the hangar hissed open. No one entered immediately; the tromping sound of steel-against-steel footfalls acted as a prologue to the Mandalorians' approach.

Before Kander could protest, Nandrif patted him on the shoulder as if to say, _Steady, boy. All is well._

Four guards, clothed in armor and robes, entered the hangar. They lined up, two-by-two, on either side of the doorway and awaited their commander.

One of the guards announced loudly, "Mandalore the Ultimate! Successor of the Indomitable! Supreme Commander of the Mandalorian Fleet!" With that, the four honor guards knelt, and _he_ entered through the doorway:

Mandalore the Ultimate.

He did not stop for formalities, moving into the hangar bay at a brisk pace. He wore a stunning suit of armor that showed age, but retained elegance. It was as black as the space the capital ship moved through, and draped over it was a dark red cloak with symbols of Mandalorian lore embroidered into it with golden thread.

And the helmet that hid his face, the symbol of the ruler of all Mandalorians, might as well have been made of solid gold. It hardly allowed for a good range of vision, but the Jedi could still sense an intense stare from the commander.

They could also sense a peculiar emotion emanating from the man. Anticipation.

Mandalore spoke, his deep baritone barely muffled by the helmet he wore. "Welcome, _Jedi_ ," he said. "Welcome aboard the _Treserakt_ : the pride of the Mandalorian fleet. A more perfect place for diplomacy, there could not be."

The two Jedi bowed respectfully.

"Greeting, Mandalore," the Jedi Master said. "My name is Nandrif Andejinn." He motioned to the boy. "And this is my apprentice, Kander Ellic."

"Well met," Mandalore replied without returning the bow. "I feel that introductions on my part would prove redundant, so let us continue with these… _negotiations_."

"Very well, I shall follow your lead."

"We will discuss this matter here. Your voice will carry just as well and it will spare me some much needed time."

"Very well," Nandrif began. "On behalf of the Galactic Senate, I would like to formally discuss the Mandalorians' peaceful departure from Republic space."

Mandalore nodded and rubbed the chin of his helmet. "I see. But I'm afraid I don't understand. We have not impeded on Republic space."

"You have a fleet stationed on a starlane of importance to the Republic world, Taris. The blockade is hindering trade and provoking unrest. The fleet in question has refused all contact and will not depart the region."

"As I said before, I do not believe we are impeding on _Republic_ space. Taris and its surrounding systems have been sovereign entities for quite some time now."

"They've recently been annexed by the Republic. I'm sorry to inform you that they're ours now, as is the responsibility of defending their civil interests."

Mandalore laughed under his breath and began to pace in front of the Jedi. "I find this news rather entertaining. Taris has been independent for centuries and suddenly, with our increased presence, they are granted Republic membership. I can't help but see these two precedents as related." He rubbed his gloved hands together. "And perhaps as a sign of fear."

Nandrif shook his head. "I can assure you, our only motivation is the well-being of the _Republic_ citizens currently dwelling on Taris. Fear doesn't enter into it."

"Then why send _Jedi_ to negotiate?" Before the Jedi could respond, Mandalore stepped forward. "I stand before you, unarmed. Do you know why? Because unlike you, I fear _nothing_! I don't fear the Jedi, I don't fear the Republic—thus, I don't fear what the consequences of my intrusion in your territory might be." He gestured to his guards. "In fact, _Master Jedi_ , I welcome such consequences."

A heavy turret lowered into place from the ceiling of the hangar bay. With hardly a pause, the turret locked onto its target and fired. A bright explosion lit up the hangar, and the Jedi starfighter was pulverized into a cloud of debris and flame.

"Master!" the Padawan screamed in horror. He unsheathed his lightsaber and held it, trembling, in front of him.

But Master Nandrif stood calm, even as an entire brigade of Mandalorian soldiers filtered into the hangar through various hatches; each of them holding a blaster aimed at the Jedi.

"What is this, Mandalore?" Nandrif breathed. "Why are you doing this? Would you betray all that your people stand for by executing us like this? This is not the way."

"Meaningless executions hold no real purpose, this is true," Mandalore explained. "It's generally frowned upon, and with good reason. There's no honor in killing cornered and defenseless prey. But this isn't meaningless. _This_ has reason." He reached out and neatly straightened the Jedi Master's robe. "Tell your Padawan what he needs to hear right now. Because on your deaths, I challenge a galaxy. It will be the beginning of the greatest hunt this civilization has ever seen, and I will be at its forefront. I will take the Republic as my trophy…

"And the Mandalorian _Neo-Crusaders_ will have their day."

Then, Mandalore the Ultimate turned away, leaving the impression of a smile in the minds of the two Jedi.

"Master!" Kander called out to Nandrif desperately. "Master! W-what do we do?"

As the Mandalorian brigade took aim, Master Nandrif could only look to his apprentice and smile. "Keep your mind on the Living Force, young one," he said. "This is not our end. This will be our glorious beginning."

The hangar bay was lit up in bright sparks of blaster fire, extinguishing the lives of the two Jedi within.

But meanwhile, across the galactic expanse, a Jedi Padawan named Revan stood amongst a pile of animal corpses. He fell silent, with a lightsaber still active in his grip, and breathed deep of the new winds passing around him.


	8. A Path of Light and Shadow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Haven't you heard? There's nothing more dangerous than a Jedi that's finally gone sane."_
> 
> -Master Mace Windu (25 BBY)

" _We're still skeptical about the initial reports, but they're coming in from all over Republic space."_ Master Zhar Lestin's image was projected into a vacant seat in the High Chamber of the Dantooine Enclave. As the hologram of the Twi'lek spoke, the Academy's Masters—Vrook, Kreia, Sunrider, Kae, Vandar, and Dorak the Chronicler—listened to the man's words intensely. The news was more than disturbing.

 _"From what we can gather as certainty, the Mandalorian fleet has taken complete control of the Onderon System, and is using the planet's moon, Dxun, as a staging area."_ Zhar's blue-tinted image briefly flickered with interference.

Vrook gritted his teeth. The Masters had all been aware of the Mandalorians' entrance into Republic space for weeks now, but none of them had conceived that the attacks were so widespread and were being executed with such tactical efficiency. A war with the Mandalorians? Nearly inconceivable, as the clans had been in decline for decades. But a war with the Mandalorians that the Republic might stand to lose? Impossible. The clans were by no means known for their tact and subtlety. Hearing reports to the contrary sounded like a joke that the Jedi Masters weren't in on.

"Master Zhar," Vrook said to the image. "Is it possible that they'll try and disrupt the Perlemian Trade Route? The Onderon System is only a few parsecs away, if I'm not mistaken."

Zhar nodded. _"We're still trying to sort through all the data. You have to understand that a large bulk of it isn't credible. But… Yes… Yes, we have received word of a Mandalorian presence on Chazwa."_

"If true," Vandar began, "cut off from the Rim, Coruscant is. Difficult to launch an effective counter-offensive it will be."

 _"That's what we're afraid of. We won't know for certain until the Route empties out from Chazwa and we're able to get an accurate estimate on the situation."_ Zhar looked down, as if catching himself. _"But that_ is _the reason why I'm speaking to you, is it not?"_

The Masters shifted around in their seats. The question they'd be forced to ask themselves needed to be brought forth, but each of them could sense that the decision had already been made.

Vrook asked, "What's the mood of the Council on the subject? Have you assembled yet?"

_"Moments from it, but I thought it would be necessary to discuss it with all of you first."_

"You didn't answer his question, Zhar," Kreia cut in, coldly. "It will not matter what our feelings are on the matter if the Council has already made the decision. You must know this."

Zhar sighed and solemnly shook his head. _"I don't believe the vote will be in favor of aiding the Republic at this point."_ He paused to breathe out some discomfort. " _All of you must admit that something is out of place here. Mandalorians—of all species! They've hardly been able to conquer neighboring worlds without a campaign that lasted for years. Now… we're looking at nearly forty-two systems under their control within a month. They cannot be the sole entity behind this."_

The Dantooine Masters could not respond.

 _"I can sense unrest growing here in Coruscant everyday. The Senate is petitioning for the Jedi Order to intervene,"_ Zhar continued. _"It's…_ difficult _for me to think that we will have to turn our backs on them at a moment of such importance."_

"Mind your feelings, Master Zhar," Vandar replied. "If we are to determine the true face of this invasion: patient we must be."

 _"Yes, Master Vandar."_ The Twi'lek quickly regained his composure. _"But if this invasion continues, many more lives will be lost. How long must we wait to assist the Republic?"_

Vandar replied, unblinking, "Long enough."

* * *

Meetra made her way through the Enclave halls, confused and frantic. She could hardly walk straight with all of the transient emotions running through her mind. This wasn't made any easier by all of the Padawans and Knights who crossed her path to congratulate and bow to her. She could only offer a passing smile to each of them. She was needed elsewhere.

When she finally reached the North Campus dormitory, Malak nearly ran into her from an adjoining hallway. He took a step back shrugged. "Sorry, Meetra," he said. "Wasn't looking where I was going."

"Yeah, same here." Meetra looked her friend over, and noticed that he seemed just as flustered as she was. "Do you sense it, too?"

Malak quickly nodded. "It's getting worse," he said. "I'm afraid to see if any of the Masters have sensed it, as well."

"I don't think they will," she said with a kind of certainty that confused Malak. "We're hearing Revan through a bond. He's not speaking to us, we're in his mind."

"Why would you possibly think that?"

Meetra grinned. "Because we're best friends forever?"

"Come now, Meetra. Really, what makes you think we've become bonded?" Malak asked, but in the moment that Meetra hesitated to answer, his eyes went wide. "You created it, didn't you?"

She winced. "It was an accident."

"An _accident_?" Malak scoffed. "Tripping over your own foot during a sparring session, that's an accident. Knocking over a bookshelf onto a priceless Jedi holocron, even _that_ is an accident." Meetra clear her throat at the memory. "Creating a Force bond between two of your friends? That's not an _accident_!"

"Instead of getting angry, you should be congratulating me."

"Why? Why would I do that?"

"Until now, Force bonds have only been able to exist between _two_ Jedi. So, you know... applause is in order."

Malak tried to speak, but he couldn't seem to pick out something to say. He stopped himself for a moment and closed his eyes. "I'm going to check on Revan. We have less than an hour before we're to stand on that platform. If his emotions are like this because of your manipulations… so help me, I'll tell the Master Sunrider it was _you_ who chipped the holocron."

With that, he continued down the hallway, with Meetra following behind after the initial shock of the threat had worn off. In her mind, she cursed the ancient Jedi for making important things for her to accidentally break.

* * *

_Daytime. A thousand glittering stars in the sky, hanging there for hours. When they fall, the horizon burns. People scream and rush for their homes, to their families, to their meeting halls; anything familiar. They cling to their ideals as if it will save them, but it always ends in silence._

_Armored hands gripping blasters promising lies. It'll be all right. It won't hurt a bit. Aim just above the eyes._

_And then—_

_"No!"_ Revan's screams were dampened by the thick walls of his room. His hand clutched the handgrip of his lightsaber, thumb hovering over the activation plate. No one was in the room with him. No one at all. Just silence. The silence that the armored hands had delivered.

If silence was a sensation, he knew he'd felt it. If the dying screams of entire worlds was an affliction, he knew he'd been burned by it, and he was still sweating and gasping from the heat.

Years of meditation, breathing lessons, and calming exercises reflexively rushed to mind. None of them helped. He could feel himself drifting. The foundation that all of his Masters and mentors had built for him during his life was being spirited away without effort, without stopping, leaving him in the darkness that the galaxy had never tried to hide, but that the Jedi had always covered up.

"Stop it," Revan mumbled. He bumped his palms against his forehead, trying to force the thoughts away. "Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!"

The images and screams began to fade from the room, but not because of the smacks on the head; the door into his room was being pulled open through the Force. His friends stood in the doorway, their very presence wiping Revan's mind of all ill thoughts. With the relief of such a burden being banished, he was able to sit at ease.

"Revan!" Malak quickly moved to his friend. "What's happened?"

Meetra nudged Malak on the shoulder. "Come on, Malak, let's get him to the healer," she said. "Grab his arm."

Before the two could get a grip on him, Revan was able to say, "No." When he heard how raspy his voice had become, he cleared his throat and managed to get to his feet without help. "We don't have time for this." He brushed himself off as if nothing had happened.

"Don't have _time_?" Meetra was hysterical. "You were huddled up in a corner like a child after a bad dream! That's not typical behavior, even from you. No, you're going to the healer."

"I'm fine, Meetra," Revan said calmly. "I'm not sick or anything. It's like you said: it was just a bad dream."

Malak placed a hand on Revan's shoulder. "What did you see?"

Revan sank back into thought, trying to replay what he had seen in his mind. It caused him considerable stress to do so. "I saw entire worlds consumed in darkness and flame," he said. "I heard screams fade away into nothing and tasted ash on my tongue. I felt them through the Force and it all… _dimmed_ … into an echo. It was everywhere." He shook his head. "It was death. A kind not meant for this galaxy."

"What are you speaking of?" Malak asked. "The Mandalorian invasion?"

"Yes," Revan breathed. "But it's much more than that. This invasion… it's just _masquerading_ as a slaughter. There's something else. Some other presence at work here that guides the Neo-Crusaders' step." Something came to mind that nearly made him bounce off his feet. "We have to go there. Tonight."

Malak shrugged helplessly. "We can't go to the ruins tonight, Revan. I don't even think _you_ are oblivious to the fact that tonight is kind of special."

"Indeed," said Meetra. "Don't go crazy on us, Revan. Mind your feelings. Tonight's not just _kind of special_ , it might as well be _the_ night."

Revan said, "I'm not going crazy, Meetra. You don't understand—"

"No, _you_ don't understand!" she interrupted, displaying a brand of hostility that both Revan and Malak knew better than to challenge. "You've been working all your life to get to this point. Every minute of every hour of every day, you've struggled and studied to get here. Now you're standing in the doorway to attaining that rank, and you're letting your emotions get the better of you? _Think_ , Revan! You're not the only one who's sensed pain through the Force. Don't think it's of some importance just because _you_ felt it."

Revan tried to respond but every time he attempted, Meetra would give him a look that suddenly seemed more frightening than anything else the entirety of the galaxy could conjure. Finally, he let himself smile, and it had been far too long since he had.

"You're right," he said. "Meetra you are the rudder that guides my drift." In the faux melodramatic way he said this, he was afraid he would get slapped, but Meetra just seemed happy that he had seen her point of view.

"On any other day, I'd slap you," she said.

"I know."

"Now come on. We have to be on that stage soon. Are you ready?"

Revan nodded.

"Are _you_ ready?" she said to Malak, who smiled and nodded, as well. "Good!" Meetra motioned to the door. "Let's get knighted, my friends."

* * *

The courtyard proper was packed with cheering Padawans and Knights of all ages. When night descended, plasma globes hovered into place and lit the grounds as brightly as if the sun was still overhead. Every now and then, the loud screech of starships heading for the landing platforms would break up the commotion; Masters from all over the galaxy were flying in to see the commencement of three of the Order's finest Padawans.

It was a sight that no one wanted to miss if they didn't have to. They could all sense the bright destinies that lay before Revan, Malak and Meetra, and were anxious to see the trio take their first step into a larger world.

The three friends, standing on a raised platform at the head of the courtyard, displayed not a hint of nervousness. They were confident, each of them, smiling to the growing crowd and waving at any youngling who happened to cheer loud enough. The Padawans were ready to be knighted and ascend to the rank they had worked for so long to achieve. They were ready to be inducted into the Jedi Archives and enter the Achievement Files as three of the youngest students to have ever been given the title.

The Enclave Masters appeared just then and approached the stage.

It was time.

Master Vandar began by waving his small, green hands in the air to calm the crowds. Silence was almost immediate.

"Friends, students, and Jedi all," he began. "It fills me with pride to see so many of us here. Warms my heart it does. And it only goes to show how loved these three Padawans have become since their arrival here on Dantooine." He turned back to the three friends. "Deserving of this award, you might just be."

Many in the audience laughed and cheered at this. Vandar smiled and continued on when they were finished.

"The path to becoming a Servant of the Light, not as easy as it may sound. Darkness can only be snuffed out by a Jedi wielding the light for the benefit of all. Teaching this, not simple. A Padawan must learn to embrace the spark within themselves and learn to use it confidently and justly, even if that light they hold is the last in the galaxy. And confident, I am, that these three younglings will become fine Jedi."

Malak playfully snorted at being called a _youngling._ Vandar picked up on this and replied, "Earned the right to call you this, I have. Perhaps one day, Malak, when you're as old as I, you will understand. But when nine-hundred years you reach, look as good you will not, hmm?"

When the audience roared into laughter again, Malak nodded with a big smile and pretended to hold a lightsaber to his chest as a means to formally surrender.

Vandar happily bowed to accept. "Now, now, let's continue on. I would like to have the Masters of these Padawan Learners give their final lessons at this point."

The first to take the stage was Master Vima Sunrider. She was a rather young Master herself, with bright red hair that had made many wonder if she was, in fact, related to Meetra in some distant way. Despite keeping her composure when she spoke, Sunrider made no attempt to hide her inner excitement.

"There are many reasons why this day is important to me," Sunrider said. "I was born of two Jedi when the standards and practices of such relationships were on the lax side. My father died when I was very young and my mother was… Well, she was more of a Jedi than anything else in my life. But I knew I wanted to become like her, and the man who trained me will always sit well in my mind as the father I never had. His passions, his kindness, and his patience—I see all of these qualities in my Padawan, Meetra.

"I see the way she spars and how she interacts with others and I see a mirror image of Master Qel-Droma, and I know that he is still at work through her." Her grin faded away into a look that bordered on sadness. "Though, I know his severance from the Force and his time as a Sith Lord have proven to overshadow his resolve as a Jedi Master, I know that his and Meetra's paths will cross only on the brighter parts. And I could not wish a better fate upon this galaxy."

Formally, Master Sunrider turned to her apprentice and bowed. "May the Force be with you, my Padawan. My only regret is that I must share you with the Republic. You've been as a daughter to me, Meetra. And I could not be more proud." She unsheathed a small ceremonial knife from her robe and, after Meetra returned a bow, reached out and cut away the Learner braid hanging from her fiery locks.

"Rise," Sunrider said. "Meetra Surik—Jedi Knight of the Republic."

The gathering of Jedi cheered. Fierce applause and high-pitched whistles flooded the courtyard. A few of the younglings activated their training sabers and began waving them in the air until a nearby Master swooped in to scold them.

When Sunrider rejoined the group of Masters on the stage, Vrook stepped forward to address the crowd.

"Good evening to you all," he said. "It is my privilege to introduce my young pupil, Malak, to the Republic expanse as a Jedi Knight. Now, I cannot take full credit for how Malak has developed, but I sincerely wish that I could. He has been a proud son of this Enclave for the greater part of his life and there have been many of us who have fathered him. I have no doubt that his deeds will require many volumes to tell its entirety before his time is done."

Vrook bowed to Malak. "May the Force be with you. And may your travels bring…" He shot a slight sneer in Revan's direction. "… _different_ friends. For your sake."

Malak smiled and returned the bow. With no braid to be cut atop his bald and tattooed head, Vrook could only touch the hilt of the ceremonial dagger to the young man's scalp.

"Rise, Malak D'Quelii," Vrook beckoned. "Jedi Knight of the Republic."

There were more cheers, and Master Kreia moved to take Vrook's place at center stage. She began to speak before the audience had quieted.

"There are many things I can say regarding my Padawan," said Kreia. "They would all be true, but none of them will do his destiny justice.

* * *

_"_ _He has a view of the Force that many could come to envy. His intense drive to learn all that we, the Jedi Order, could possibly have to teach astounds me. Revan simply will not stop until the subject of his desires becomes clear."_

Revan and Malak made their way down the hill as quickly as possible, using the Force to propel their movement. They hadn't much time before someone realized they had gone.

They sprinted down the ravine and crossed the river quickly, following its flow to their destination.

_"My Padawan came to us by unique circumstances, and it only follows that the life he leads will be just as unique. He has the talent, the determination, and the heart of a Jedi. I have no doubt that his fate will walk side-by-side with that of our very galaxy. And I know the stars above us will shine brighter for it."_

The companions approached the ancient ruins and Revan quickly produced a large, triangular stone from his pack.

"Where did you find it?" Malak asked. "I thought it would be years before we found the key."

"Never underestimate the intuition of your Masters," Revan replied. "They've had this locked away in the Archives for years, unsure of what it was." He positioned the stone in front of a worn groove in the face of the ruins. "Then again, perhaps they knew exactly what it was."

He maneuvered the key into the groove with the Force, and the structure came alive in a song of moans and groans. Before long, the hidden entrance they had been studying for months slid open with a low rumble.

_"Embrace the path before you, Revan. It will not fail you."_

"Maybe we should think about this, Revan," Malak said nervously. "Once we pass beyond this door, we can never go back. The Order will surely banish us if they ever discover what we've done."

Revan simply smiled. "My brother, I am sorry to say you are mistaken. We've already passed through this door." He took his first step through the entrance of the ruins. "It's as the Force has shown me."

_"And with that, all I have left to say as your Master is this: Make the Order proud…_

* * *

"…And rise," Kreia said, holding Revan's black Learner's braid in her hand. "Revan Versirath—Jedi Knight of the Republic."

And the Jedi of the Enclave applauded, celebrating long into the night. Their imaginations went wild, each of them speculating on the fantastical adventures the three Knights would surely have. What their role in the greater workings of the galaxy might be. Pleasant and hopeful dreams were all that arose, though as the Jedi applauded, they could have never known.

They applauded the fall of the Republic.


	9. And the Leaf Shall Guide the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"At one time, Revan was my Padawan. In times past, long ago. But Revan, when he had learned all he could, had other masters... that fool Zhar, and other Jedi on other planets. He learned from each. But in the end, he turned back to me. When he realized there was nothing more to be learned from the Jedi—except how one could leave them forever."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)

In the year following the knighting ceremony, time passed with unusual immediacy for Revan. There was too much that had to be done. Too much to accomplish and sort out. But the real event that put him ill at ease was coming toward him faster than he could stop it. He felt helpless against it all, but he never faltered. He _couldn't_.

This was all his doing. And he thoroughly believed what he had told Malak in the dark of those ruins: There was no going back.

He pushed back his long, black hair and cradled his head in his hands. Over and over in his mind, he told himself that hesitation was meaningless. He could feel the storm of consequence trailing behind him, waiting for any hint of a stumble on his part—waiting to consume him. But his destiny lay shining on the horizon before him.

_There is no going back._

With that, Revan pushed open the door into the barn: the location he had deemed safe for what he was about to do. It was a few klicks away from the Enclave. Far enough. It was empty and its operation abandoned after its owner departed off-world for a better venture. For now, it was the perfect place to speak treason.

Inside, Revan found only bare metallic walls, a dirty floor with rusted machine parts littered about, and thirteen Jedi Knights standing in the midst of it all. They all emanated nervousness and kept the cowls of their robes drawn over their heads as if to hide their shame. Malak, on the other hand, was casually leaned up against the wall on the other end of the barn; he was already well-versed with what was to take place.

"Relax," was the first thing Revan said. "You're all Knights here. Act like it. You don't need permission to leave the Enclave and there's no penalty for attending a gathering. And if you see this as anything other than a simple meeting, then you may leave."

A few glances were exchanged between the group of Knights, but none left. Most of them, instead, pulled back their cowls. Revan knew what was on their minds.

"With every day that passes, more Republic worlds are either burned or strip-mined to fuel the Mandalorians' march. Most of you know this all too well. I doubt there is one among you who hasn't lost something, or someone, in this conflict."

No one argued this point.

Revan continued. "The Republic is _losing_ this battle, my friends," he said. " _We_ are losing. Our ships and defenses were ravaged before the Mandalorians even entered our space. We can thank Exar Kun for this. Though, the enemy's forces might be strong enough to take down our crippled war machine, there is one thing the Republic has that these _Neo-Crusaders_ will never have…

"They have the Jedi." Revan paused for this fact to seep into the minds of his audience. It did. "We are not weak. We are not just another kind of soldier. Look through the Archives and see that through nearly every conflict, when we step forward, we turn the tide. We send the enemy retreating back into maw they crawled from. That is the consistent ending to every story that is told with our inclusion. If we fight the Mandalorians... they will be defeated: this much is true."

One of the Jedi spoke up. One always did. "Revan, have you spoken with the Masters?" she asked. "When are we to assist the Republic? What is their plan?"

Revan broke into laughter. He couldn't help it. "Plan? Deri, please. Surely, you must sense it. If there was any sort of plan, it formed and died on the day the Mandalorians invaded." He strolled to Deri's side and placed a hand on her shoulder. The young woman's sadness flowed through him with the physical contact. "There is no plan. If there was, there certainly isn't now. The Jedi are watching."

He turned away, raising his voice. "They're _watching_!" he said. "Watching while the people of Taris are taken as slave-labor. Watching while the cities of Alderaan crumble. Watching while the Kessel Run is used to smuggle _people_ to safety."

Revan looked over the crowd. Some of the Knights were staring at the floor, while the others didn't look away from their speaker. Deri had begun to cry.

"This inaction by the Order should be considered high treason," Revan said. "Millions are dead that didn't have to die, but millions more can be saved. All we have to do is join the fight. The Republic is crying out for us. They're begging us for the help that will never come unless we answer the call.

"That is the question that I am asking you this night. Will you let these pleas fall on deaf ears? Will the Keepers of the Peace watch the galaxy burn? Will you join Malak and I as we take back the destiny of our civilization?" He gave the Knights a moment before saying, "You are not the first group of Jedi to meet with me. And you will not be the first to join our cause."

When Revan was satisfied that enough thought had been given to the subject, he spoke again. "You don't have to say it aloud. If you would join us, if you would take back the galaxy..." He shrugged. "All you have to do is step forward."

There was a loud thump as boots hit the metal flooring in unison. Malak nodded to Revan. Through this and all the previous meetings, not one Knight had stayed behind.

* * *

Daytime over Dantooine was a sight that would always grant Meetra a measure of peace, but it did nothing for her today. She moved through the crowded trails of the Traders' Market outside the Enclave. With civilian clothing on, and her lightsaber tucked away under her coat, she found herself unusually invisible.

As a Padawan, she used to dread going outside the walls of the Jedi Academy, for fear of meeting the eyes of a hundred innocents who all had problems for the Jedi to remedy. There was nothing she could do about any of the grievances, even if she wanted to. This only persuaded her mind to hearken back to the words that Master Sunrider would always have ready for such moments.

_"We are Keepers of the Peace, Meetra. We cannot afford to take up the role of a soldier or police official. To take pity on those who ask of our help, and to become entwined in such personal matters, is to give in to your passions. It is to believe that, for that moment, those unfortunate few are more important than the greater workings of the galaxy. A noble cause, perhaps…_

_"But this is not our fate."_

This was why Meetra found it to be such a release to walk among the chaos of the Market. The voices she had been forced to listen to and shut out for so long had suddenly fallen very quiet. It felt as though those cries for help had never existed.

It was a relief, and she needed such a feeling desperately.

Especially after what Revan had asked of her…

"How dare he," Meetra muttered, but her voice was lost in the crowds. "Asking me such a thing."

It had been weeks since Revan had come to her with his proposition, but she still found her self becoming... _frustrated_ over the whole encounter. He had said it so plainly that she didn't even sense it coming. Leave the Jedi Order? Assist Republic on the front line?

She wondered if Revan's new powers as a Jedi Knight had gone to his head; it could be the only explanation for such an insane plot. But that's what got to her. Revan had never acted _insane_ before. Ever. Out of every living soul within the Enclave walls, Revan Versirath was the only one she could count on to act rational through the most irrational of times.

Without Revan's guidance, she never would have perfected her lightsaber form, or made it out of the kinrath cave with a focusing crystal in hand. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that she never would have entered the Jedi Archives as one of the youngest Padawans to be granted the rank of Knight in the history of the Order.

Then why now? Why would Revan suddenly get this idea in his head that everything they had worked toward should be thrown into the wind? Taking up arms against the Mandalorians wouldn't result in mere reprimand. No, expulsion would be the only just punishment.

But, for as much as Meetra considered this, she still couldn't completely convince herself that following Revan to war _wouldn't_ be the right thing to do. Why was the Order sitting on their hands as more star systems fell under Mandalorian control?

None of it made any sense—and she wasn't quite sure she wanted it to.

Before she could dedicate another thought to the matter, Meetra's hand jumped up to grab at someone's arm. The reaction had been so instinctual through the Force, she almost hadn't realized what she had done. When she came to her senses, she discovered that the arm had been reaching for her lightsaber. Her eyes shifted up the thief's arm and she found herself meeting the gaze of a very scruffy looking man.

"Knew it," the man said. "I knew you was one of 'em."

Meetra released the arm, giving it a tight squeeze as she did to communicate a friendly warning.

The man threw up his arms. "What? Are you trying to hide from us now? Don't wanna look us in the eye no more, so you try and sneak around in normal person's clothes." He grabbed at the Jedi's coat, but she brushed the hand away.

"You should keep your hands to yourself, sir," Meetra said. "While you can still use them."

"Threats? Wow." He clapped. A few people were beginning to take notice. "You're the kind of people we're supposed to rely on? You're the ones who keep the peace 'round here? Maybe I never realized just how screwed we all are."

"You need to calm down, sir," she said. "I must return to the Enclave. If you have grievances, see that our gatekeeper gets your information."

The man chuckled. His eye twitched. "That's fine. That's _real_ fine. You know how many times I've spoken to your little gatekeeper over there? I'll throw you some hints: I never spoke to the same one twice, and I've spoken to 'em collectively more times than I can count on two hands." He held up his hands flat in front of the Jedi. "Even back when I still had ten fingers to count on."

Meetra grimaced noticeably when she saw the hands. Four fingers on each. The thumbs had been severed clean to his palms. "Sir…" She was at a loss. "I'm sure if you…"

"What were you gonna say?" the man snapped. "See the gatekeeper? You really don't have any idea what you're doing. Do ya, missy?" He outstretched his arms. He was speaking to the crowd now. "How can we tolerate the Jedi being on our world if they aren't even going to help? Not _once_ have they done anything but look on and watch people get away with murder and thievery!"

Meetra looked around. She was the center of attention for the whole Market. "Sir, if you will just calm down…"

The man ignored her. "Some prospector landed here the other day. Told me that I built my house on his property. The land that my family has owned since before my great-grandfather's time, this prospector claimed it was his!" He was shouting now. "It didn't matter that I had the deeds, the paperwork, or the proper data, he still gave my family a week to get off or he was gonna kill us."

He pointed to Meetra. "I came to the Jedi for help when the police shrugged us off. They said they'd look into it, but I never heard from them again! When a week passed, they took my thumbs. And that night they tried to burn down my house with my family still in it…" He wiped a pooling of tears from his cheeks with the back of his hand. "My wife breathed too much of the smoke. She didn't even get to see the sunrise one more time…"

When Meetra had left the Enclave that day, she couldn't help but notice how noisy the Traders' Market could be. Now, everyone was dead silent. Their eyes judged her thousands of times over. They were just waiting for their moment. Waiting to exact justice in whatever manner they chose.

The man spoke again. "I say if the Jedi are just going to sit back and watch the Mandalorians take over, watch evil prevail on Dantooine, and let their own people die around them…" He reached inside his vest. "…we don't need them anymore!"

Meetra blinked. She was hunched over. Her whole body throbbed with adrenaline and felt as light as a feather. Her hand was gripped around something. She had to look up to see what it was, and when she did her breath escaped her.

Her lightsaber was alive in her hand. And the man she had been talking to, not seconds ago, was motionless on the ground. It had happened all too fast for her, and even for the crowd. Screams began to rise up around her and people scattered to get away from the Jedi.

She didn't know what happened, but it began to flood back into her mind as if she was recalling a dream:

The man's hand had reached inside his vest. His hand gripped something, brandished it, and aimed it at Meetra's head.

She had heard the muscles tighten around the man's hand as he tried to keep the blaster steady with four fingers. She heard the trigger beginning to slide back, grinding against its housing, seeming as loud to her as a furniture skidding across steel flooring.

She saw the look in the man's eye. The sadness. The defeat. The determination. He knew what he was doing—and he wasn't going to fail.

By the time the trigger finally clicked back and the ion cells began to transfer energy to the focusing mirror, Meetra had already pulled her lightsaber into her hand with a call to the Force. Her thumb ran along the activation plate, and she spun on her heels as the green blade sparked to life.

When she turned back, the blaster bolt was already on its way, but her saber had deflected its approach.

And sent it flying back through the man's head.

Past finally caught up to present, and Meetra realized the true horror of the situation. The crowd of the Traders' Market was beginning to close in around her. They were shouting things like "Murderer!" and "Traitor!" and what they were thinking was even worse.

Meetra deactivated her lightsaber, sending the blade hissing back into the handgrip. She turned back to face the man's body, but found two kids huddled over him. They cried out for their father and their tears soaked into his vest.

She had to get out of here. Her thoughts were a blur of confusion and sadness.

And anger.

She turned and kicked off into the air, using the Force to send her over the mob and onto the main path. She ran as fast as she could. Around the Enclave, through the main gate, and out across the Academy courtyard. She didn't stop until she was safely back in her dorm, but, even then, it didn't feel like she had run far enough.

* * *

Kreia didn't speak for the longest time. Her eyes shifted around uselessly, brought to life by an unwelcome feeling of anxiety that she believed she had ridded herself of long ago. The words that her apprentice spoke, they didn't seem to make sense within her mind, as if the boy hadn't been speaking Basic.

"Why have you come to me with this, Revan?" she asked, sincerely. "Why do you ask me such a thing that you know I cannot answer?"

Revan stared down at the table that separated them. It could have been shame that provoked this action, but Kreia knew that it wasn't. It was regret: not for what he was doing, but for what he was doing to her.

"I'm not asking you to talk me out of this," Revan explained. "What's done is done. I just… needed your guidance. One last time."

"I cannot give you what you want," Kreia snapped. She couldn't remember a time when she had been so flustered. "You're turning your back on everything the Jedi Order has provided for you. You're going against everything that I and the other Masters have taught you. By doing this, you're going against…"

"The Republic?" Revan respectfully interrupted.

Kreia could not reply.

"How can I possibly betray all that the Jedi stand for, when our whole purpose for being is to defend the Republic against tyranny?" Revan asked. "What good are the Jedi if we let it all fade? You know we are at fault here. You understand what I must do. _That_ is why I came to you.

"I'm not leaving to betray the Order or the Republic. I'm leaving to do what we've done for thousands of years: defend our way of life."

Again, words did not come easy to Kreia. She had watched her Padawan grow from a broken boy to a powerful young man. She was proud in a way she hadn't been with former apprentices and students. For as much as she wanted to argue with Revan and do everything she could to keep him from leaving, she knew she couldn't.

To stop him, Kreia would be lying to herself; it would be to say that she didn't want the Jedi to intervene in the Mandalorian conflict. But she did, and every day that passed, she cursed the Council for letting the situation develop the way it did. And she knew if anyone should be on the Republic's first line of defense, Revan would always be her first choice.

There was no other option. That's where his destiny was taking him, and she would be at fault to hinder it.

Without a word, she sat up from the table and moved to the corner of her room. She opened a small chest and picked up its contents.

"You asked me for guidance," Kreia said, making her way back to the table. "As a member of the Jedi Order, I would force you to stay. As your Master, I would implore you to stay." She placed something on the table. "But as your friend, I can only wish you the best. I would hope that wherever this road might lead you, that you act on the moment, not on emotion. That you do what's right, and not what's right for you."

She took a breath. "Know that as a Keeper of the Peace, the fate of the Republic will fall on your shoulders. I hope that you bear that burden well."

Kreia moved her hand, revealing a lightsaber of a more antique construction. Revan took it up, marveling at it.

"This was the first lightsaber I ever built," Kreia said. "It has seen its share of conflict, but it has never lost its strength. Such a fate, I will always wish upon you, my apprentice."

"I can't accept this, Master Kreia," Revan said. "It should stay with you."

"I wish that it could." Kreia held up a hand to signal the end of that particular argument. "In giving you this, I give you my trust—and the promise that a part of me will always be with you, as you will be with me." She lowered her head. "But you need no Master now, Revan. That is all that I can possibly impart to you."

Revan nodded. "Thank you, my Master," he said in pleasant defiance, and stood to leave the room.

As he did, Kreia called after him, knowing that she would never see him again.

"May the Force be with you."


	10. Knightfall in the Republic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It would have helped, had he made her understand. But she was always strong-willed, that one, and did not understand war as Revan did."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)

Revan approached the main gate of the Enclave at midnight. He had chosen this night to host his exodus for a few reasons. For one, neither of Dantooine's moons would be shining, which would make for a less conspicuous escape. For another, the gatekeeper's duty would happen to pass to one of the Knights that would be leaving with him, so the gate would be conveniently left open until someone took notice in the morning.

And, lastly, Revan had it on very good authority that a trader from the other end of the district would be leaving before sunrise, and that he would not mind taking on a few dozen passengers in the least bit.

A more perfect night to betray the Jedi Order, there could not have been.

With a quick nod to the gatekeeper, the main entrance was opened and the two of them made their way out of the Enclave.

"Hey, Revan," the gatekeeper said. "Do you mind?"

Revan turned back to the Knight. "Mind what?"

"I was going to get a last look at the place," he replied. "Just wanted a clear vision of it in my mind when we're out and... I don't know."

"You don't have to ask me for permission, Khed."

"I know, I know. It's just…" The gatekeeper, Khed, struggled with his words for a moment. "Spent my whole life in this place. I can't even remember what my life was before I was brought here to start my training." He scratched the back of his neck. "I don't regret what I'm doing, but it's difficult leaving all of this behind."

Revan grinned. "You won't be leaving it behind. We were never meant to stay here our whole lives. A part of this place will always be with you. When you spend so much of your life on something, you always get something else in return. There's a chance you'll see it more clearly once we've gone.

"Besides, Khed, if things don't work out for us in the near future, I suspect we'll see this place again."

"Why?" Khed asked.

Revan shrugged. "When we're taken in for our expulsion hearings, of course."

Khed's only reply was a weak chuckle. He stood there for another long minute, looking the Enclave over from North Campus to South. When he was done, he turned and followed closely behind Revan, and neither of them dared to look back.

* * *

When they reached the abandoned barn, Khed went inside to join the others, but Revan diverged off to a nearby tree where Malak sat calmly. The bald-headed Jedi Knight sat looking up through the tree's dead branches and toward the starry night above.

"Remember what Master Kae always told us?" Malak asked Revan, not even bothering to look down from the sky. "About our destiny being somewhere out there on one of those billions of stars?" He sighed. "Those words have never held more truth to me than they do right now."

He finally looked down, making eye contact with his friend. "I'm going to die on one of those stars, Revan."

"But not before you live, Brother."

Malak couldn't help but laugh. "You always have an answer for everything, don't you?"

Revan smiled. "A few, Malak, but they're always outnumbered by questions. A good thing, I suppose."

"This is your last chance, you know?" Malak said. "Your last chance to march our merry band back through the Academy gates and take whatever punishment may come from leaving the Enclave without merit. Your last chance to salvage the rank and prestige that you've worked so hard to attain." He shrugged. "Your last chance to stay a Jedi."

"How many times to I have to repeat myself, Malak?"

"At least once more, Revan"

Revan had justified himself many, many times already, not only to his fellow Knights, but to himself. But Malak was right to ask him this last time, because there would be no other chance to take a step back; their road home was beginning to crumble behind them. So all that Malak was really asking of Revan at that moment was not necessarily to justify himself yet again, but a friendly way of asking:

_Are you sure about this?_

It was then that Revan, too, felt compelled to look up at the sky. His eyes moved between the twinkling lights and across the blue cloud of the galaxy that belted the night. He tried to find where his destiny would lead him, but he just couldn't tell.

"There are darker things at work than the Masters would have us believe," Revan said. "There is something out there pulling strings and making us all dance into its hands. We cannot wait for this threat to reveal itself, because the Order _is_ right about one thing: we _are_ Keepers of the Peace, not soldiers. And if we let this war continue on for much longer, the Jedi are going to be all that stand in the way of whatever hopes to claim this galaxy for its own.

"We can't let it come to that, Malak. I won't let this galaxy burn because of a few ignorant Jedi. If we fight, we will win, and we will lose our ranks—but I don't believe, in the face of all this, the rank of Knight was worth very much to begin with."

Before Revan could continue, Malak cut him off by standing up and holding up a hand. "A simple 'I'm sure' would have sufficed." He playfully socked Revan on the shoulder and moved off toward the barn to join the rest of the Knights. "Get one last look. I'll see you inside."

Revan took his next breaths slowly, savoring the minty briskness so prevalent in the air as a gentle wind carried through the grass. He held out his palms and let the cool humidity of the atmosphere pass along them. And when he closed his eyes, it all faded away. It all became one to his senses and he let himself drift off into it one more time.

Memories associated with the feeling swam through his mind. Master Kreia's voice whispered in his ears of the unity of all things in the galaxy. The recoil of a direct hit to his training saber tensed up his arm; hearkening back to a time when he and Malak were only younglings, when they sparred with harmless wooden blades under the watchful eye of Master Vrook.

And there was one memory in particular that came to dominate the rest. The sight Master Sunrider exiting a small transport with a young girl in tow. Even back then, Revan was astounded by the child's beauty, and as the girl grew, so did his affection toward her.

He remembered how often he made it a point to ensure that his and Bastila Shan's paths crossed as frequently as possible. Whether it was crashing whatever class she was taking or simply walking her back to her dorm, he found any reason he could to be by her side.

Most importantly, Revan remembered that night only a few months ago when he found her relaxing beneath a tree in the Enclave courtyard. He remembered the questioning look that drifted forth from her hazy, blue eyes as he approached her. How her lips trembled when he leaned over and kissed her under that tree. How they both pressed in and embraced each other tightly as the rest of the world seemed to catch fire by their deed. They didn't care. In that moment, the Jedi didn't matter. The Order didn't matter. The Code they had sworn by was but an echo. They had let go, in the best possible way.

_There is no passion, there is serenity._

Those words held no meaning to Revan as he gave in to his passions and emotions and found himself more at peace than he had ever been. He remembered that moment, and knew that rescuing the galaxy from the Mandalorian threat was a risk worth taking. Being a part of the Jedi Order already seemed like a part of his life that was decades back on the road.

After one more deep breath, Revan opened his eyes and began to stride towards the abandoned barn. But something grabbed his hand in a warm and delicate grip. He looked back and found himself staring into a set of hazy, blue eyes yet again. He had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

"Bastila?" Revan gasped. "What are you doing out here?" He took a quick look past the girl to make sure she hadn't brought any of the Masters with her. "How did you know where to find me?"

Bastila's eyes fell to the ground, the cowl of her robe hiding her face in shadow. "I didn't know," she said. "I could… I could _feel_ …" Suddenly, her foot stomped the ground, and her expression shot from sadness to anger in an instant. "Why are you doing this, Revan! You would really sacrifice all that you've done just to go fight in some war? What are you thinking!"

Revan could only laugh.

"What's so funny!" Bastila hissed.

"That's not really what you wanted to yell at me about."

Bastila crossed her arms impatiently. "Pray tell, what was I going to yell at you about?"

"I don't know." Revan shrugged. "I just know your face gets all scrunched up like a kinrath pup when you have something on your mind. So let's hear it."

"A _kinra_ —" She stopped herself, rubbed her forehead to calm herself down. She grew solemn in a hurry. "You know I… _care_ about you, Revan. I love the times we've spent together. I…" Her voice trailed off. She wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her robe. "You didn't even say goodbye!"

Revan smiled to himself and brought Bastila closer into his embrace. She clutched his robe tightly and cried onto his chest.

"I respect your wishes too much," Revan said. "When you said it had to end, you were right. There _are_ things in this galaxy more important than our little adolescent relationship." He moved his hand to her chin and guided her eyes up to meet his. "But not by much."

They held each other tight, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing second until, through the eyes of the Force, there was nothing left to tell them apart.

* * *

It was then that Revan, Malak, and forty-two of their fellow Knights departed the planet Dantooine under cover of darkness. And as they flew further and further away from the world, the Force grew quieter in their absence.

It was still dark outside when the entirety of the Jedi Academy awoke to the terrifying sound of silence.

* * *

Revan couldn't tell where he was when he finally woke. He and his followers had switched between so many different transports on so many backwater planets that he wasn't even sure they were still on their way to join the main Republic Fleet. Though, he couldn't help but trust the pilots who came to assist them. When word began to spread that a small legion of Jedi Knights were defecting to aid in the Republic war effort, hundreds of pilots quietly offered up their ships to the cause.

This, unfortunately, meant that Revan would have to break up disputes between pilots when they'd arrive at their next layover and find two transports in wait. After three days of this, without sleep, he finally let himself pass out. Now, he was wishing he hadn't.

"Malak?" Revan spouted out as he sat up, finding himself in a cargo hold loaded with steel crates and sleeping Jedi. "Malak, you here?"

There was a brief snort as Malak roused from his slumber. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbled and rubbed his eyes. He had been laying on his robe for comfort and using a sack of spice as a pillow, but he didn't look very thrilled about leaving it. "What's the matter?"

Revan shook his head. "Just checking. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

"It's all right… I can function on one hour of sleep, I suppose. But I do believe we're still all here and accounted for."

"Yeah," Revan said. "We _all_ here." Something didn't feel right about the mood in the cargo bay. To him, it felt as though nothing had changed. If someone had told him that he was still on Dantooine, he probably would have believed it.

He got to his feet, clumsily, and weaved his way around the unconscious bodies and toward the corner of the hold. When he got there, he found a Knight huddled up under a cloak and flanked by two crates as if the Jedi had been trying to hide. He kicked the body with his foot, and what returned was a very familiar, feminine groan.

Revan clicked his tongue. "For being so opposed to what I talked to you about, you sure are a very long way from home." He kicked the body again. "Meetra."

"I heard you," Meetra said, slapping Revan's boot away. "Just leave me alone, would you?" She flipped back over on her cloak to try and fall back to sleep.

"Hey, just hold on a minute." Revan kicked her again. "This isn't something I can just ignore. What are you doing here?"

Malak asked, "Did Master Sunrider finally find out you chipped her holocron?"

Meetra sat up. "No, Master Sunrider didn't find out about the holocron. Yes, Revan, this is something you can, and _will_ , ignore." Her eyes burned with fury, and suddenly Revan and Malak had nothing to say. "Just know that I'm here to assist the Republic, and _you_. My reasons are just that: _mine_. So let that satisfy you for now and leave me alone until we arrive at the Fleet."

She lay down again and turned over to face the corner. Revan and Malak exchanged worried glances, but obeyed their friend's wishes and left her alone.

For the rest of the trip, they discussed things of a different matter. Mostly concerning what they had found in the ruins back on Dantooine, and what effect it could have on their campaign. They knew, both of them, that their findings only threatened to further complicate their rather unpredictable future. Yet, they couldn't help but debate, plan, and wait for the right moment.

* * *

When the Neimoidian pilot of the Jedi's transport entered the cargo bay and said, "We're here," the mood lightened substantially. Their road was finally at an end, at least for now.

The loading ramp was lowered and Revan's legion found themselves surrounded on all sides by dense jungle. They were confused and alarmed for a moment until they saw a Republic officer waiting nearby with a few landcruisers large enough to seat all forty-two Jedi.

The officer was quick to make excited introductions. "You must be the Jedi Knight Revan we've been hearing so much about," he said, feverishly shaking Revan's hand. "Welcome. Welcome to you all. We can't tell you how thankful we are to see some Jedi with a sense of honor about them."

"Right." Revan was still distracted by their wild surroundings. "Forgive my ignorance, but where are we, exactly?"

"Ah, no, you must forgive _me_ ," the officer replied happily. "With all of the layovers you must have had to avoid Jedi detection, I don't envy you one bit. You're currently a few parsecs deep within the Gordian Reach Sector—the forth moon of Yavin."

Revan sighed. The dark side was very prevalent on this particular moon. He could feel it as clearly as he could feel the jungle heat at his neck. "Kind of an odd place to hold a meeting with Jedi, don't you think? Exar Kun's body probably still decays somewhere on this rock."

"I'm well aware of this, sir, and I must again apologize. But it was necessary. The Mandalorian Fleet has us stumbling backward constantly. We've only just set up operations here no more than two weeks ago, but now I hear that we'll have to abandon the outpost within the next few days, unless we want to be discovered."

He motioned towards the landcruisers. "The admiral can explain everything. If you'll all come with me, please."

* * *

While the rest of the Jedi were brought up to speed as to the current status of the Mandalorian invasion, Revan met with the admiral in his private quarters.

Admiral Saul Karath was a weary-looking man who was just beginning to lose the color of his hair, though Revan couldn't tell if this was natural or stress-related. Everything about the man communicated experience; from the various medals pinned along his tidy uniform, to the way he held his datapad as steady as a rock.

Yes, this was a man of experience. Revan knew he could learn much from him.

"Revan Versirath of Deralia," Admiral Karath began, reading Revan's file off the datapad. "Jedi of the Republic. Well-versed in xenolinguistics. An exam record second to none. One of the few to master the Juyo lightsaber form, and one of the few to attain the rank of _Knight_ at the age of twenty-one."

He read through the file as if he was reading a Holonet tabloid: indifferent and unimpressed. "Quite a record. Says here that you attained your rank just under a year ago. Is that correct?"

Revan nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Hmm." Karath tossed the datapad back onto his desk. "Gave up quite a future to join a lost cause, don't you think?"

"That would be true if you were to assume that the Republic is a lost cause, and if you were to also assume my future lies anywhere else but here."

The admiral grinned, as though that had been the answer he was looking for. "I must admit, it's refreshing to hear a Jedi speak of the Republic so romantically. Stars forbid, I see any of that in the Senate where our pleas fall on deaf ears."

"The Council does not believe the Mandalorians to be the real threat," Revan said.

"So I've heard," Admiral Karath replied, sounding tired. "It's the same excuse I have to cram down my soldiers' throats while they bleed on the frontlines." He steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "It's a terrible thing to say to a man or woman who's dying for you. To tell them that hope is on the horizon, but it wants nothing to do with you. To tell them that, in the eyes of the Jedi, we are nothing more than bait."

He gritted his teeth, holding back anger. " _Real threat_. Ha! Fifty-six star systems— _Republic_ star systems—under Mandalorian control last time we counted. It doesn't get any more _real_ than that."

"You know I agree with you, Admiral," Revan explained, trying to calm his host. "That's why I'm here. That's why these Knights are here."

"I see a group of Force adepts, all of them no more than half my age," Karath said, leaning forward. "We have no other options left. The Republic is dying within its own borders. That's why you're here. That's why you're heading to the frontlines. And that's why I'll be giving you your own command." His eyes were unblinking and firm. They stared into the young Jedi, questioning his every motive. "But just what good do you think you can do out there, soldier?"

Revan stared back, just as intensely, so that the admiral would understand that no false promises would be made.

"We will do what we came here to do," he said. "We will bring hope to those soldiers on the lines. We will take back Republic space and fulfill the promise that the Jedi Council has yet to keep. We will win this war, Admiral Karath. And Mandalore will fall at our feet."

The admiral held a fixed gaze, undoubtedly sizing up the young man in front of him. Seconds ticked by in silence until the man saw something agreeable to him. He nodded carefully and stood straight. "The best plan I've heard all year," he said, offering his hand to Revan. "I would be honored to have you and your group fight under our banner."

Revan shook the admiral's hand. "And fight we shall."

So it went, in a motion that would reverberate throughout the centuries yet to come, the Mandalorian offensive came to a swift and bitter end, and the true war for the fate of the Republic began.


	11. III: Through Strength, I Gain Power

_But the ultimate failing of the Jedi Order during those closing years of the Mandalorian Wars was not lack of intelligence. Far from it. The Jedi are by no means a collective of mumbling invalids. The galaxy has looked to them countless times for countless centuries and the Order has always remained intact, powerful, and respected for their actions._

_Their Archives will forever communicate this fact, but the Jedi's true weakness lies in one inarguable truth: they have never been tested. Time and time again, darkness has swept across the galaxy—and time and time again, it has been repelled by the light. The Order devolved into a creature not unlike the Mandalorians themselves, as they grew more confident with each victory. And in Order's case, as is evident with all mortal beings: confidence bred arrogance._

_The Jedi believed they understood every shape that the dark side could possibly take. They believed any challenge that could conceivably arise would be easily thwarted by their hand. They believed in themselves. Too much, perhaps._

_They never could have known what horrors had the Order set squarely in its sights. What monstrosities conjured up from beyond the Rim laid in wait and watched while the Republic collapsed in on itself. A presence so dark that even I have trouble looking into it. Though, I cannot change what will happen, I might change how it will happen._

_The Sith have never had ambitions of destroying the galaxy, but merely to take the reins of it; to control it in the way the Jedi have for so long. My motives are different, though. I do not believe the light side to be weak—only the beings who wield it. And these same beings, by way of chance, have managed to retain control of the galaxy for centuries. As I said before, the Jedi have never been tested… but that is what I plan to do: test them to the breaking point._

_It is my hope that, at the end of what will certainly come, one of us will be fit to take the reins for a new age._

-Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith

_The Rakata and the Unknown World_


	12. The Dxun Theater: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We claimed this moon decades ago when we reforged ourselves after Exar Kun's defeat. Some of us call it home."_
> 
> -Mandalorian Neo-Crusader (3,951 BBY)

In the initial spark of the Mandalorian invasion, the planet Onderon and its moon, Dxun, were of the first worlds to fall under Neo-Crusader control. Because of the various civil conflicts that were taking place on Onderon's surface, the denizens were disorganized and couldn't manage so much as a counterattack in the chaos of that morning. Their surrender was quick to take place.

With the civilians effectively quarantined and subdued, the Mandalorians established their main base of operations on the nearby moon. It was the environment of choice for the invaders, whose homeplanet was not at all dissimilar in terms of the thick vegetation, rainforests, and unpredictable weather.

For the Neo-Crusaders, it was a home away from home. One they knew they could defend well into the future if it ever came down to such a thing: a last resort that none of them believed would ever be necessary. It was all for strategy's sake, not reality's.

Yet, as the war spread throughout Republic space, and as the Mandalorian Fleet was stretched thin, the Onderon System was all but left behind on the warpath.

Revan had counted on this.

The Fleet that was left behind to patrol the Onderon System in case any Republic ships attempted some sort of suicide mission was still of a respectable size. It was the same chunk of the main Fleet that held off the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith Line near Taris, and was more than successful at suppressing any Republic counterattack.

But as the months grew longer and turned into years, this armada had become stagnant. Crews were constantly being rotated between ships and stations on Dxun's surface to keep up crew morale. Entire dreadnaughts and battlecruisers were being shut down to conserve energy. And a once proud group of warriors began to grow mad as the road to honor and glory became almost unreachable.

These Neo-Crusaders had, indeed, been left behind, and they were anxious to prove themselves in any way possible. Countless Onderonian civilians were killed in games and many were tried and executed unjustly. These Mandalorians wanted blood on their hands, and they didn't care how they got it.

Revan had also counted on this. He had hoped this had transpired.

And this is exactly what he got.

* * *

A small, one-manned Republic scout vessel dropped out of hyperspace in the shadow of Onderon, on the opposite end of Dxun's orbit. When this occurred, proximity alarms throughout the Mandalorian outposts lit up. The armada was mobilized and its fighters were scrambled before the Republic scout was even able to get a clear visual of the Dxun-Onderon Divide: the small area of space that separated the planet from its moon, and small it was.

The Mandalorian armada maneuvered into a string formation, moving single file from their orbit around Dxun, across the Divide, and into a direct intercept course toward the scout. Their weapons were already charged, and groups of Neo-Crusaders gathered at viewports throughout their vessels so that they might see, with their own eyes, the Republic ship burst into flame.

They wanted to watch debris scatter in all directions. They wanted to feel the vibrations caused by their dreadnaught's weapons firing. They wanted to see the bright, silvery shine-matter of their crystallized and vaporized opponent drifting through the black of space.

The Mandalorians wanted to experience all of this so badly, they didn't notice what was going on around them until it was far too late. All they could do was look on, as their string formation was suddenly flanked on both sides by an entire fleet of Republic capital ships, carriers, and frigates.

As the Republic Fleet exploded out of hyperspace, the following concussions rocked the Neo-Crusader armada into disarray and panic. Appropriate battlestations were manned too late. Orders were miscommunicated. The armada was helpless.

It was chaos in the Divide as the Republic ships opened fire with deadly precision, taking out bridges, hangar bays, and missile batteries. The Mandalorian ships were burning for several minutes before any one of them could afford to return fire, but by then, the Republic Fleet had already closed in on both sides, and crushed what little remained of the Neo-Crusader armada like a detention-level garbage smasher.

The opening skirmish of the Battle of Onderon already had a clear victor, but the real fight was about to begin.

* * *

" _Surprise was successfully achieved, sir_ ," the hologram of Captain Lin Morris stated. " _Our fleet is beginning to break off and enter their respective orbits around Onderon and Dxun. We estimate no more than twelve hours before Mandalorian reinforcements arrive. We had best reclaim the two worlds by then_."

"Agreed," Revan replied. "You have your orders, Captain. When the _Duskwind_ is in position, Operation Pathfinder is a go on your mark."

" _Roger that, General Revan_ ," Captain Morris acknowledged her commanding officer with a salute. " _And good luck down there._ "

"Thank you, Captain Morris." Revan watched the image of the captain fade away. "Luck will get us halfway there." He turned from the holo-emitter and walked through the hangar bay.

This massive section of the Republic carrier was thick with troopers, all of them broken off into their respective platoons on either side of the hangar. When Revan began to make his rounds, the many thousands of soldiers snapped to attention. The invasion was only minutes away. Revan chose his words carefully; nothing else beyond what he said at this moment would matter more during the coming storm.

"You all know your mission," Revan said, his voice projecting far across the hangar. With the Force, each syllable carried weight. "You know who to kill and who to protect. Which facilities need to be wiped out and which should be spared. You know all of this and I believe that all of your will accomplish your objectives with all due valor. But you may not know exactly what's at stake here."

The Jedi Knight moved through the ranks, his lightsaber in hand and his eyes connecting with each soldier.

"You may have heard the rumors. That we are the last hope for the Republic. That if this attack fails, there may not be another one. I am telling you now that this couldn't be more true." Revan's words caused many of the soldiers to stir, but he continued before the thoughts of grim destruction could set in. "We are the last shield on the frontline. If the Mandalorians manage to beat us back this day, we will be beaten back for the rest of the war.

"They've struck at us when we were wounded. They've killed us without cause. None of you should look to what follows and think you are delivering war—you are delivering _justice!_

"So I am asking you to fight not for pride or revenge. Fight because these Mandalorians are guilty of a crime against life. Fight because you are the only ones who can deliver retribution. And fight because your family and friends, back at whichever world you call home, cannot fight for themselves!"

Revan's lightsaber flared to life and he raised it up over his head, shouting, "For the Republic!"

The soldiers returned the warcry with more passion and emotion than Revan had thought was possible: " _FOR THE REPUBLIC_!"

The Jedi grinned. The N7 tactical dropships were mechanically lowered onto the flight deck.

"May the Force be with us all!"

The soldiers about-faced and diligently waited for the pilots of the N7's to allow them in. Meanwhile, Revan found the formation of Jedi Knights near the back of the hangar. When he approached, Malak and Meetra stepped away from the group, which had grown considerably since their initial exodus from Dantooine. Their numbers had steadily increased from forty-two to something near three-hundred, as more and more Jedi found the Republic's cause something worth fighting for.

Revan was sure that if all went well this day, there would certainly be more to come.

"Are we ready to keep the peace, my friends?" Revan asked the group, from which he received calm nods. "Good. Keep the mission in mind and your fellow soldiers at heart. I want Onderon and Dxun back under Republic control within the next ten hours."

He turned to Meetra. "Are you sure I can't talk you out of heading for the moon? I know Malak and I would feel much better if you were by our side when we hit Onderon."

Meetra shook her head. "I appreciate the offer, Revan. Really, I do. But I didn't leave the Academy to ensure that you had your triumvirate. It would be better if you only had to look over one shoulder instead of two." She motioned to Malak, who scoffed.

"Safety wouldn't be as much of an issue if you came with us," Malak said. "With that bright red hair of yours down in that jungle, you'd stick out like a bantha in a snow patch." When he received Meetra's dagger-eyed stare, he quickly threw his hands up to surrender. "Just saying."

"Yeah, anyway, my ship's boarding now," said Meetra, taking a step back. "I suppose I'll see you both…" She seemed to be calculating the odds of their victory over the two worlds. Even after all their planning, the look on her face told Revan her thoughts on the outcome were still inconclusive. "...I'll see you later…"

Revan finished for her. "On the steps of the Iziz Palace where we'll celebrate our victory. Where we'll smile contented as the cheers of a liberated world rise up around us." He nodded. " _That_ is where we'll see each other again."

Meetra snickered and shook her head. "Did anyone ever tell you how terrible you are at melodrama."

"Vrook," Revan said with a playful grimace. "Frequently."

"You really think we'll win this? How could you possibly know that? How certain are you?"

"I'm not certain," Revan replied, shrugging. "But it's the happy ending that I know we'll deserve after what we're about to face."

* * *

_"This is Captain Morris. On General Revan's authority—Operation Pathfinder is a go! Repeat, Pathfinder is a go! Prepare to drop!"_

The air was knocked out of Meetra's lungs as the dropship jolted into a full burn across the Divide. The soldiers around her began to do whatever they could to keep their mind off the growing gravitational pressure beginning to wear upon them. Prayer, song, and breathing exercises all filled the hold as the ship moved faster and faster through space.

"Remember the objective!" the commander of the squad, a Twi'lek, shouted to his soldiers. His voice was almost lost under the roar of the engines. "Smash the entire area! Keep your eyes to the east! We have to take out that shield generator so the Fleet can begin bombing the enemy base! Do you get me?"

 _"Sir, yes, sir!"_ the squad replied.

"Remember your training, and you will make it back alive!" His thumb angled over to Meetra. "And keep an eye on the Jedi! She'll make sure we'll all make it through just fine! Watch her back and she'll watch yours!"

Meetra felt sick. She removed her restraints, fought her way through the heavy and intense gravitational force, and entered the cockpit. She was immediately taken aback by the green of the jungle moon, Dxun, growing more detailed by the second. And, from what she could see out the pilots' main viewport, the space on all sides of their vessel was thick with the rest of the supporting dropships.

She could feel the anxiety pouring out of the soldiers throughout the invading army, as if she was floating in the middle of a cloud of discontent. All she could do was make sure her own worries remained at the back of her mind and keep the mission at the forefront. This mission couldn't fail. Not now, of all times, since Revan had given her authority over every soldier and Jedi Knight in the landing party. Too many to count, and now she was leading them into battle

"Sixty seconds, General," the pilot called back to Meetra. "Looks like we're still go for the designated LZ."

A dropship off the port side exploded. The concussion nearly knocked Meetra off her feet and the clatter of debris striking the outer hull was deafening.

The pilot cursed loudly. "They've got their anti-orbital defenses operational! They're mobilizing faster than we thought!"

"Anything we can do?" Meetra asked, feeling helpless.

"Increase our speed to throw off their sensors and cross our fingers," the pilot replied. "Breaking atmo in three… two… one… Retros firing!"

A blinding light tore through the cockpit before the copilot could polarize the viewport. The entire ship vibrated as super-heated gasses enveloped the hull.

"Thirty seconds, ma'am! You'd better get your troops ready. We're gonna be snapping a few tree limbs on our approach."

Meetra nodded, knowing what the pilot had meant. With the enemy base so entrenched in the thick foliage, the landing party's only chance was to pick zones where the forest canopy was at its thinnest and, quite simply, break through it. What would happen next was all best-guess from outdated topographical maps of Duxn's surface. Meetra had no idea what would actually await them when her dropship finally fell through the canopy.

She tried not to think about it and rejoined her squad, who were up and ready with blaster rifles in hand.

She wondered if she should give the men and women at her back one last morale speech. But what would she say? Words of inspiration were never her strong suit, so what could she possibly tell her soldiers that would help them to make sense of the evil they were about to face? Perhaps anything would help.

Just as her first word rolled off her tongue, the pilot's voice screeched over the intercom, _"Clear the ramp!"_

The ship lurched from side to side as it broke through the jungle canopy and, not more than a second later, the ramps dropped. The soldiers cried out under the influence of pure adrenaline and rushed out into the jungle. Meetra chased after them, switching on her lightsaber and doing her best to plot out what they should do.

Dropships were crashing through the trees all around her and branches snapped with sounds like gunfire inside her ears. Troopers were already firing madly into the treeline, aiming at anything that moved.

There was so much disorder, it was difficult for her to get a fix on anything through the Force beyond the fear brewing within her soldiers and the gentle constant of the jungle that surrounded her. Everything blended together. She knew standing still out in the open was a bad idea, but she couldn't sense an immediate threat nearby.

There were no Mandalorians in wait for them. Her troopers were firing at shadows to chase away their own fright.

As the N7 dropships began to depart for a high orbit above the moon, Meetra began to rally her immediate squad together. "Everyone back in formation!" she shouted. "Check your gear one more time and get ready to move out. We're going to be making for the rendezvous in one minute. That shield over their base needs to come down within the next few hours or our fleet's done."

That's when the Twi'lek commander, Acys, stepped forward. "Beg your pardon, General, but don't you think it would be a better idea to rally with the rest of the army?"

Meetra fought the impulse to blindly agree with the military leader and thought things over for herself. "No. The second the Mandalorian counterattack begins, they're going to light up any section of the jungle where they think we are. If we all stick together, we're all going to burn together." She clapped the commander on the shoulder. "Thank you, Commander Acys, for your input. Make sure our comms officer keeps tabs on where the rest of the army is headed so none of us get lost en-route, and have him pass word along that our battalions should keep their distance from each other."

"Yes, ma'am," Acys replied. From his limp salute and his tone of voice, Meetra recognized that the commander was suddenly none too keen with the idea of his squad being taken over by a Jedi.

"All right, let's move out," Meetra ordered her soldiers. "Remember what your general said: keep your eyes to the east. That's where the enemy base will be."

"Yes, sir," the group replied in unison.

"Heavy arms take point. Riflemen in standard formation behind them. Keep your eyes open and your fingers on the triggers. Be ready for any—"

The jungle was lit up and rustled by a violent explosion just over the soldiers' heads. Meetra looked up in time to see the N7 they had just departed begin to fall back to the ground in the form of a rather large fireball.

"Move! Move! Move!" Meetra screamed at the troopers. "Take cover! Take cover!"

The decimated dropship slammed into the trunk of a large tree, snapping it in half. A secondary explosion, when the vessel finally hit the ground, sent Meetra flying off her feet. She felt her body being crushed as she struck a low-hanging branch before coming to rest in a thick puddle of mud.

There was heat at her back and screams in her ears. She wanted nothing more than to stay down at that moment. To let the commander take over and leave her behind. What good could she have ever done? What good could a rookie Jedi Knight—a _rogue_ Jedi Knight—ever do in such a situation? These soldiers under her command didn't need someone like her deciding their fate. No one did.

Meetra's body was slowly lifted out of the mud. When her mind was back in the present, she could feel a set of hands lifting her up from under her arms. Her vision didn't come back into focus immediately, but when it did she looked into the face of her rescuer.

Beige skin and a head of boney spikes protruding from the top of his skull. If those traits had been retained by any other being, she would have felt threatened. But the Zabrak that wore them had the kindest and most gentle face she had ever seen coming from the man's species. Most certainly not a threat.

"Thanks," Meetra said, absently brushing the mud off her face and clothes. "Thanks, soldier."

"Not a problem, General," the Zabrak replied as politely as he could, given the situation. Their dropship still burned a few meters away without an immediate explanation as to why. "I think the rest of the squad is already moving out. We had better catch up."

"Figures," Meetra sighed. The commander had already counted her as a loss and was leading her own unit out of the area without her. "Okay, let's go. We don't have much time before the Mandalorians decide to attack the ground forces."

"Are you sure you're good to walk, ma'am?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Meetra proved this by walking on her own. "Thanks again. What was your name?"

By the book, the Zabrak saluted and said, "Mechanic First Class, Private Bao-Dur." He lowered his arm. "At your service, General."


	13. The Dxun Theater: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The only advice I'll give you when you're in the jungle, shoot anything that moves. Then shoot the things that don't move, just to be sure."_
> 
> -Kex of Clan Ordo (3,951 BBY)

Meetra caught Commander Acys by the shoulder and forced eye contact between them. The entire squad stopped in their tracks at the sight of the confrontation.

"Is there a problem, ma'am?" the commander asked, dryly.

Meetra flicked a clump of mud off her nose. "Is that how you function, Commander? You see someone get thrown into a mud puddle after a friendly ship gets destroyed, and your first reaction is to move on?"

"I was under the assumption that the Jedi were invincible."

"Yeah," Meetra humored him. "We _are_ invincible. The only thing we're not immune to is faulty judgment by an incompetent commander."

The squad went wide-eyed and waited to see how Acys would react. The Twi'lek commander took in a deep breath through his nose and the tips of his head-tails fluttered a little.

"This mission is of the utmost importance," Acys replied calmly. "We cannot afford any moment lost. If we don't make trouble for the enemy forces here, soon they'll move on to assist their friends back on Onderon. That would mean big trouble for your other Jedi buddies, Revan and Malak."

The commander was slowly demeaning Meetra in front of the squad. She didn't quite know how to respond, or when. The man just kept talking, hiding behind patriotism and his commitment to duty. Meetra's grip on her lightsaber began to loosen.

"So when I say that time is of the essence," the Twi'lek continued, "you know what I mean. So, I'm sorry that we left you to temporarily take rearguard, but I just naturally assumed that you would catch up—which you did. Now, can we please move on? Every second wasted is a step backwards."

Meetra's arms tensed. Her mind was livid and her focus cut through the very living Force that surrounded her—and she could suddenly see the _lines_. They were isolated moments of time and space that would web around her and shift away with every second. The lines would connect and interconnect and align, and suddenly she could see into the commander. She could how he was built and why he stood where he stood. But, most importantly, she saw what would break him—the weakness in his essence.

She found his shatterpoint.

"No, _you_ listen here, Commander!" Meetra growled. Most of the squad took a step back. "I don't care if my friends die, if my soldiers die, if this Republic falls—if we can't adhere to simple orders and chains of command, there is simply no hope for any of us."

She tapped her lightsaber against her chest. " _I_ am in charge. _I_ am your commanding officer. I am the decider in his battle, and I will not be pushed around by a commander with a superiority complex. This mission _will not_ fail because of you or people like you. I _will_ _not_ allow it."

The green blade of her lightsaber hissed to life. "I don't care if you like it, but you _will_ follow my orders. If that is simply too much for you, there are three roads ahead of you: draw your weapon and take back your command, march your hide back to the LZ and await our return in silence, or you fall into formation and await my next orders."

The squad turned their attention back to the commander, who stood placid with his chin up in the air, attempting to salvage what little dignity he could on the matter. His nostrils flared. His bottom lip quivered and his hands balled into fists.

No one was quite sure what would happen, until the commander breathed a simple and contemptuous, "Yes, ma'am."

"No," Meetra replied. "Yes, _General_."

"Yes," Acys hissed. " _General._ "

The Jedi perked up. "Good!" She put her hands on her hips and looked over the troopers, as if nothing had happened. "My orders stand."

The squad exchanged confused glances, evidently snapping out of their trance brought on by the power struggle. Before it got too noticeable, they resumed walking in standard formation, with Meetra keeping pace near the front. She walked with pride and a distinct feminine swagger that made many of the soldiers question just who was leading them through the jungle.

Though, the general consensus amongst them would eventually become: a rather strong and intimidating Jedi.

* * *

The fighting had begun all around Dxun. Meetra and the rest of her squad could hear blaster fire and explosions of varied intensity echoing all around them. They weren't sure where it was coming from, and the comm chatter was inconclusive. Whoever was engaging the Mandalorians, it didn't sound like the good guys were winning.

This didn't persuade Meetra to diverge from the mission. Each squad of the Dxun landing party had the potential to disable the shield generator around the base. For as much as she wanted to run to her fellow soldiers' rescue, she kept her squad moving in the direction of their objective.

"That's what I was afraid of," Bao-Dur mumbled as he peered into his macrobinoculars; the watchtowers of the enemy base were now visible through the trees. The squad kept themselves close to the ground while their mechanic assessed the situation.

"What's wrong?" Meetra asked.

"The shield generator's operating internally," Bao-Dur answered. "If we're going to shut it down, we're going to have to get inside the base."

"That's not possible," Acys cut in. "Intelligence reports had the shield generators positioned outside the walls."

Bao-Dur angled his binoculars farther south. "I'm looking at the ones outside right now. They appear to be fake."

"Fake?"

"Yeah. The power couplings aren't connected to anything and the turbines aren't spinning at the proper speed. Actually, they're moving at half the rate they should be. Everything else on the generators is just for show: flashing lights, random bursts of exhaust—the whole package."

Acys rubbed at his forehead. "How could we have missed this?"

"They're pretty convincing. From orbit, even _I_ don't think I would have been able to tell the difference."

"Great," the Twi'lek huffed. "This changes everything. The mission is compromised."

Meetra held up a hand. "Yes, this changes things, but the mission is not compromised. This just means we have to walk a bit farther."

"I wouldn't call breaking into a Mandalorian stronghold a simple walk. How would you even expect us to get in there undetected?"

"Well, I was hoping that would be the topic of our next discussion." Meetra produced a small holo-emitter from her pocket and punched in a few keys. The emitter lit up with red light before a wire-framed schematic of the enemy base began to hover in midair.

She pointed to the main gate. "This is all based on what we could gather from orbit, but it appears that there's only one way in or out of the base. Right here."

"So?" Acys shrugged. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"The fighting is going on all around us. We would have noticed some hostiles by now if they were leaving through the gate. That means they're using some other means of getting in and out of the base."

"We haven't heard any troop carriers passing overhead."

Bao-Dur said, "Underground tunnels would be the most likely of scenarios. That would explain how they're meeting our forces so efficiently."

Meetra nodded. "They're waiting for us to get up close so they can take us by surprise. I'm guessing that's what's happening elsewhere with the other squads."

"Then all we have to do is find the entrance to one of these tunnels… if there is indeed one. Could be a trap either way."

"It may very well be, but it's a chance we'll have to take."

"So, what do we do next?" Bao-Dur asked.

Meetra grinned fiendishly. "Spring the trap."

* * *

Meetra and her squad wandered along the perimeter of the Mandalorian base for the next hour. Their pace was slow; it took almost all their strength just to navigate through the thick wilds of the Dxunian jungle. At the end of that hour, they rested as much as they could, though Meetra wouldn't dare let them sit down.

"We're not safe here. Still too close to the enemy base," she explained. "Stay on your toes and keep your eyes peeled."

Bao-Dur said, "I still don't quite understand how we haven't found them yet—or vice versa." He shifted around on his feet, trying to stretch out the weariness in his legs. "Maybe there really aren't any tunnels."

"No, there _aren't_ ," Acys snapped. "What have I been telling you? What have I been telling _all_ of you? Who cares how they may, or may not, have gotten out of their base. Our soldiers are dying out there in the jungle! We should regroup with the rest of our forces before it's too late."

"That's enough, Commander," Meetra said. "There's nothing to be gained by gathering in one spot. One direct hit would take us all out. We've gone over this before, and I do not want to repeat myself a third time."

The Twi'lek ignored her. "Don't you hear what's going on out there? Don't you _sense_ it with that Jedi mind-magic you all have? We're losing because they're picking us off like stragglers from a herd. We might have already lost this battle, and we won't know it until—"

Meetra's lightsaber activated in her hand. Her arm rose up until the tip of the weapon was aimed squarely at the Twi'lek commander.

"What is this?" Acys said weakly. "You and I might not agree, but executing me will still get you court-marshaled. Your life in the Republic will be _over._ "

Meetra grinned, savoring the commander's expression. "I'm got going to kill you, Commander," she said. "At your ready. This war isn't over until I say so." Her blade suddenly whipped around, catching a sniper bolt and deflecting it back into the trees from where it had come. A muffled cry cut through the jungle, and Meetra could suddenly feel the pang of misery—a life had been extinguished by her hand.

But the feeling didn't last long. The image of the man—the father—she had killed back on Dantooine only breached her thoughts for a moment. She didn't feel the sadness of it anymore. There was only the mission. Only the soldiers under her command.

And the fate of the Republic passing through her fingers.

She wouldn't be destroying life, she would be saving it. This guided her form as the ground suddenly collapsed around the squad and the treeline became a scorched ruin. The Mandalorians had her squad surrounded and it would only be seconds before reinforcements arrived from the newly-revealed underground tunnel.

Meetra acted quickly, jumping into the wave of blaster fire from the approaching Neo-Crusaders. Her lightsaber danced into a rhythm of circular sweeps, reflecting the bolts when she could.

The Republic soldiers returned fire as they retreated back behind a fallen, moss-covered tree. Meetra was close behind, respectfully stepping over the few bodies of her squadmates that had been killed in the opening assault. When she was safely behind the tree, she shouted in Acys's ear, "Bring them in closer! I'll watch our flank!"

The Twi'lek didn't respond, but motioned to the rest of the squad to keep suppressing fire on the incoming wave of warriors. Meanwhile, the comm officer did his best to relay their position and situation to the wideband but was only met with static.

"Private Bao-Dur!" Meetra called to the Zabrak, who had been blind-firing with his pistol.

"Yes, General?"

"When we get our window, you're not going to have much time to disable the generators. Will you be ready for it?"

Bao-Dur nodded, his expression already fatigued.

"Good. Stay safe and don't break cover. I can't have you dying for the cause just yet."

"For the Republic," he replied with a faint smile.

Meetra nodded and ran headlong into the trees. She knew what the Mandalorian strategy would be. It would be the same technique a hunter would use to bring down a wounded animal: corner it and go in for the kill from either side. The Neo-Crusaders with their camouflage armor were already within fifteen meters of her squad, and the reinforcements from the underground tunnel had already spilled out into the jungle.

As she approached the first group of warriors on her squad's left flank, she sorely wished that she had some backup, but the Mandalorians needed to think their prey was trapped or the strategy would shift. She couldn't have that.

She stayed hidden, though she was certain that the enemy already knew where she was. Using the Force, she leapt up the side of a tree and sprinted down the nearest branch that would support her. Nearing the end, she could already see the warriors moving quickly through the brush below. It was obvious to Meetra that these Mandalorians wanted a kill more than anything else, which would explain their impatience to flank her squad.

Meetra hoped this would work to her advantage.

She dove off of her branch, activated her lightsaber, and called upon the Force to guide her fall—right into the middle of the group of Mandalorian warriors.

 _"Contact!"_ one of the warriors screamed before his head was relieved of his body.

Meetra stayed low, moving from side to side in the middle of the warriors. As they turned around to take aim, she moved her saber to slice their weapons in half; some of them exploding as the ammo within detonated.

The group was thrown into chaos as they frantically tried to gun down the Jedi in the middle of their group, but only managed to commit friendly fire. They shouted curses and orders that fell on deaf ears, and after only a few seconds, more than half their group was dead upon the ground.

Once the warriors began their retreat, Meetra jumped into action and cut down any of the Mandalorians that dared show their back to her. What remained of the group was quickly hacked apart, and the last warrior standing was gunned down by his own reflected blaster bolt.

The Jedi Knight stood in the middle of a field of bodies, but there was no time to dwell on the macabre of the scene she had just created. She moved swiftly back to her squad, her feet innately dodging any obstructions in her way.

Meetra wasn't entirely sure if she or the Force was in control of her body now.

When she returned, the Mandalorians were nearly on top of the squad, and a many of her soldiers were dead or badly injured. But the enemy was right where she wanted them to be.

Without stopping, Meetra lunged at another tree nearest the approaching Mandalorians. She flew up the trunk with her lightsaber still humming in her hand and, reaching the middle of the trunk, swept her saber around into a wide arc, cutting the tree cleanly in half. As gravity began to pull her back toward the ground, she kicked off from the trunk and flew backward through the air.

Meetra's focus centered intensely across her palms, and when she could contain it no more, she released. The Force lashed out in a violent wave, pushing the severed half of the massive tree clear off its trunk and down toward the unsuspecting Mandalorian warriors.

The Neo-Crusaders looked up in time to catch a glimpse of the massive tangle of wood and leaves falling from above, just before they were crushed beneath it. The sound of twisted metal cut and snapped across the jungle before all was silent once again.

"Down into the hole!" Meetra shouted, standing upon the fallen tree, beneath which an entire platoon of Mandalorians lay dead or dying. "Go now, before reinforcements arrive!"

"No!" Acys roared, his tired look was slowly building toward rage. "We have injured, we can't leave them out here."

"Where's our field medic?" asked Meetra.

The men and women of the squad looked around until one of them pointed toward a body out near the treeline.

"All right." Meetra nodded in understanding. "Then there's nothing we can do for them now. Everyone down in the hole—"

"Nothing we can do?" Acys said incredulously. "If we leave them out here and more of the Mandalorians come—or if some of the many jungle creatures happen by—they'll have no chance!"

"Then make sure they have a pistol in their grip to defend themselves, and let's move out. What more do you expect us to do?"

"I'd expect _you_ to do your duty! Leave no one behind!"

"If we stay, we die. Our only hope is to disable that generator so we can get everyone out of here safely. Now, move out, Commander, or you can stay with them if you'd like."

Acys bared his teeth in a way that only a Twi'lek can. "You'd have them die for you, but you wouldn't die for them," he said. His hand moved down to his waist. "Let's do something about that."

He tore his blaster from its holster and he took aim at the Jedi's forehead. His finger moved to pull the trigger, but before he could, his hand went shock-numb. When he looked down to see what had happened, he discovered… _nothing_. To his confusion, and building horror, his arm suddenly ended at his wrist, with only a smoking stub to indicate that anything had been there in the first place.

Acys crumbled to the ground, writhing in pain and clutching his wound, as the cooked smell of his own flesh reached his senses. His vision blurred; he was going into shock. Before he blacked-out, a fiery-haired woman gripping her green lightsaber moved into his dimming field of vision.

She said, "The needs of the many, Commander Acys, will determine the fate of this galaxy. The needs of the few will damn it to darkness. This war will not be won by civility and duty alone. In the future, when you look down and see where your hand used to be…

"…you will remember that."

Acys passed out.


	14. The Liberation of Iziz: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"That's the problem with you Jedi. Always chanting about peace and control, never up for a good fight. Well, except for Revan, I guess."_
> 
> -Canderous Ordo (3,956 BBY)

" _This is Captain Morris. On General Revan's authority—Operation Pathfinder is a go! Repeat, Pathfinder is a go! Prepare to drop!"_

The N7 tactical dropships shot into a full burn across the Divide, putting a thousand klicks between themselves and the main fleet before the mission timer had even breached its first minute. A quick heading adjustment and the ships slammed into Onderon's atmosphere with abandon, cutting trails of flame and smoke across the sky as the formation plummeted towards the planet's surface.

The dropships fired their retro-boosters to slow their descent and lowered their output to half-thrust, but even at half-burn, the soldiers inside the vessels were still feeling the ravaging gee's upon them. Not a second after entering the Onderonian mesosphere, the Mandalorians went on the defensive. Anti-air detonations of flak and pulsebursts clustered around the dropships, most of them missing their targets by meters.

The Republic vessels broke into the upper-stratosphere without a scratch, the enemy reacting to this by employing their most effective weapon: the electronimbus cascade. The dropships frantically broke formation, scattering into evasive maneuvers as massive clouds of electro-magnetic energy burst into existence directly in the dropships' path. The pilots had been briefed on such a weapon and were able to guide their ships successfully through the onslaught as the effervescent clouds of crackling static appeared in all directions.

One ship, however, was not so lucky. A forming electronimbus cloud caught the dropship's engines, shorting them out instantly. The pilots of the other ships could only look on helplessly as the disabled N7 and its passengers careened uncontrollably toward the ground below.

Retros were fired a second time as Onderon's capital city of Iziz came into view. The walled city was a sprawling collection of ivory-white structures that had been cut into a hundred square kilometers of the wild jungle; the very same thick and unforgiving flora that covered the rest of the world and its low-orbiting moon across the Divide.

From afar, everything within the capital city blended together, with the only remarkable feature being the royal palace that had been built high above the rest of the city. But this palace was the one place the dropships had to avoid, for now.

The Iziz Royal Palace had been heavily fortified by the occupying Mandalorians; shielded and reinforced with pillboxes, gun turrets, and anti-air cannons. It was the last place the vessels would approach during the drop, but reaching it was the mission objective of the soldiers they carried.

On the final approach, the N7's came in low over the jungle, close enough to cause the trees to sway in their wake. They flew up and over the wall that protected the citizens of Iziz from the terrible beasts of the surrounding environment and drifted over the town square, taking minimal damage as they hovered into position.

And then, under the loud hissing noise of maneuvering thrusters and the deep hum of firing repulsors, the dropships landed and released their payload. An entire regiment of Republic troopers stormed the ramps and took up defensive positions in the square, while a legion of rogue Jedi Knights stepped out into the Onderonian sunlight, lightsabers active in their grips.

* * *

The town square was quiet. _Too quiet_ , Revan thought. The place was a large, open court of stone with storefronts and restaurants flanking them on all sides. There were eight roads leading out of the square in total, all of them spidering in from the north, south, and all points in between. And at the center of it all, a tall statue of a woman with a strong expression and a flowing robe.

Revan wished that he knew who the statue was dedicated to. He hated not knowing an obvious detail of his target objective. He made a mental note to check the records for Iziz upon his return to the _Duskwind_ , his flagship.

Malak's voice snapped him out of his frustration. "Any idea where they are?" he asked.

"They're here," Revan assured him. "Reports had them scattered all over this square, now it's completely empty. They knew we'd drop here."

"A trap?" Malak gasped. "Why would you direct the ships to land here if you knew?"

"It doesn't matter if every Mandalorian soldier on the planet was here in this square with us. If we had taken any other landing zone we would have been fighting our way through the entire city." Revan silently motioned to the various battalions to take up defensive positions at various points across the wide court. The troopers' reaction was immediate. "Dropping here, we're closer to the palace. And once we break out of the square, there's nothing but the Sky Ramp between us and our objective."

Malak grimaced upon hearing the words, _Sky Ramp_. He looked to the north, finding the ascending roadway curving high above the surrounding structures and around toward the Iziz Palace. "I don't even want to think about how we're going to get up there."

"Let me do the thinking, Brother," Revan said teasingly. He turned and signaled one of the squad commanders. "I need a volley into these buildings. Aim for the windows. Let's see if we can't get some of these hostiles to return fire."

"Right away, sir!" the commander replied. "All right, everyone, let's jostle up the stingers' nest!"

Taking aim at the surrounding windows, the soldiers waited for their command to fire, and when they received it the square was at once showered in broken glass, dust and debris. A cease fire was given, and they waited again in silence, listening for any hint of their Mandalorian aggressors.

While they stood complacent, Revan was approached by the former gatekeeper of the Dantooine Enclave, Khed. He had a look of worry branded across his face, and his eyes were hard-pressed to make contact with anything but the surrounding buildings.

"Sense anything?" Khed asked.

Revan shook his head. He was also having trouble tearing his focus away from the shattered windows. "As silent as a mute's grave."

"I have a bad feeling about this."

"As do I."

"I can sense the danger but not the enemy." Khed was nearly bouncing off his heels. "What do you think that means, Revan?"

"It means this is your first time standing before the tip of the sword. It's the first time for all of us, Khed. We won't sense our enemy until we know what a true enemy is."

"Ah." Khed relaxed, but not much. "That's inconvenient, I must say."

"It's only natural," Revan replied. "If we were handed everything at birth, training and experience would mean nothing. Be thankful for the fact that we still have a lot of ground to cover in this life. And most of all be mindful of the Living Force." He clapped Khed on the shoulder. "Now, go and tell the other Knights what I've just told you. I'm practically drowning in their anxiety over here."

"Yes, Revan." Khed nodded before confidently bounding off to confer with the rest of the Jedi Knights.

Malak said to Revan, "I wouldn't dare do any of the _thinking_ for this operation, but do you think we should begin to move the army out of the square now? It's not looking like the Mandalorians are here."

"They're here," Revan repeated. "Without a doubt." He looked around the white buildings for any hint of movement, but saw none. Something had to be done, they couldn't afford to sit tight and wait for that something to happen. There was the mission, nothing else.

"Let's get moving," Revan called out to the commander. "One company at a time. We're going to make our way to the Sky Ramp."

"Yes, General," the commander acknowledged, and B Company made their way down the northernmost road out of the square.

Revan fought the urge to belay the order. Something was wrong, very wrong. He couldn't determine quite what it was. His logic was clashing with what he felt, through the Force, to be right. But, then again, no decision seemed right.

His eyes shot to the left, against his will, and he finally saw a brief glimmer of movement in one of the windows.

"Target!" he shouted. "Northwest corner!" The soldiers whirled around in the general direction, and Revan reached out with the Force and touched their minds, implanting a mental bullseye to direct their fire to the exact window.

The Republic troopers tore the building in half with all manner of weaponry; from suppressing fire from blaster rifles to anti-infantry RPGs. The devastation threw a thick cloud of dust over the town square. Revan looked around, discovered that he couldn't see more than a few meters in any direction, and decided he had made a mistake. He had done exactly what the Mandalorians had wanted him to do: underestimate them.

"Take cover!" Revan's voice cracked through the air only moments before the thick, white cloud enveloping the square began to flash red with blaster fire. It was coming from all directions. He could finally sense the enemy, and their presence was as overwhelming as the thickened dust he stood in.

His fear had finally taken shape, and it had assumed the form of a Mandalorian onslaught.

Revan started to hear the Republic soldiers return fire, but not a one of them hit their targets immediately. He sprinted towards Malak as his blue lightsaber darted all around his body to deflect the blaster bolts aimed at him. His hand reached out, grabbed Malak by the robe and pulled him in tow as Revan made for the nearest place to take cover.

The friends ducked inside a used parts and junk kiosk, taking refuge behind the front counter. Activated by their presence, a nearby droid powered to life, its hands moving along to emote its welcome speech.

"Welcome to _Mishtar's Junk and Trade_ ," the droid buzzed. "Please state you business to begin transaction." A low beep punctuated its greeting.

Malak rolled his eyes. "We need a plan to get out of this mess."

The droid responded, " _PLAN_ is not currently in stock. Please state your business to begin new transaction." Another beep and silence.

"What are we doing, Revan?"

Blaster fire filled Revan's ears and fog obscured his vision, and all the while the plan that he had constructed to reclaim the capital city was crumbling around him. Back on Dantooine, everything was set. There were hardly any variables. What he studied and trained for was exactly what he faced: in his exams and his duels. Nothing came at him sideways, and nothing had ever taken him by surprise.

The Mandalorians had surrounded the Onderon strike team, but that's not what had taken him by surprise. What really froze him in place and threw his emotions into a whirlwind of doubt was simple: he didn't know what to do.

Every second that ticked by with his inaction was a failure. Every soldier falling silent was a victory for the enemy. Revan couldn't do what he had always done back at the Academy; when all choices seemed wrong and the outcome looked bleak, he would look to a superior for advice. But there was none.

 _He_ was the superior.

Upon him rested the questioning gaze of a galaxy at war, and by his stillness the future of that galaxy sat in grim limbo. And if he sat much longer, he knew the only future in store for the Republic would be an eternity of flame under a banner of darkness.

_"What would you rather do?"_

Master Kreia's words from a session long passed suddenly infiltrated his mind. He listened intensely. Malak tried to shout something, but the volume on everything in the corporeal realm had the volume turned down.

_"There are times in life, my Padawan, where you will be faced with a choice that isn't a choice. There are some trials and tribulations that not even the Jedi are immune to. Obstacles that cannot be knocked down or circumvented. Fire that cannot be quelled, ice that cannot be melted, and a heart that beats eternally._

_"In the face of this—in the face of a no-win situation—when every action will be the wrong one: use restraint, use logic, use the Force, but above all—_

_"Choose."_

"Indifference is the bane of the living," Revan echoed the final point of the lesson, causing Malak to nearly breakdown in exhausted confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

Revan's eyes came to life, scanning the inside of the kiosk and the minimal view he had of the town square. The dust had begun to lift, the scene growing clearer, revealing the Republic soldiers badly pinned down by heavily-armed, bright silver suits of armor in motion.

The Republic troopers didn't have the weaponry to take out enough of the Mandalorians to make an effective sprint toward the Sky Ramp. Revan would have to improvise.

"You there, droid!" he called to the robotic merchant of the kiosk. "Do you have any power cells in this place?"

The droid came to life in a pre-programmed animation of courteousness. " _POWER CELLS_ are currently in stock. The asking price for said item is: _ONE THOUSAND, ONE HUNDRED_ and _THIRTY-EIGHT_ credits per _POWER CELLS_."

"Fantastic." Revan responded to the droid by rummaging through a few cabinets. His search yielded eight cylindrical vessels that glowed with a bright yellow light. "Found them!"

The droid began to shake from side to side aggressively. "Warning! _THEFT_ is a crime punishable by Judicial Arbitration! The authorities will be contacted if _THEFT_ continues!"

Revan ignored the rickety droid's warnings and yelled into his commlink. "Is there any soldier on this band that has a belt of grenades."

After a few moments of static, _"Yes, sir!"_ The voice was lined with fatigue and fright. _"I have some, sir!"_

"Where are you, soldier?"

_"Eastern end of the square. We're taking cover in a deli of some kind!"_

"All right, listen to me very carefully." Revan held his mouth close to the commlink receiver so that no word got by the man on the other end. "When I give the signal, I need you to throw your belt of grenades toward the center of the square. Do you understand?"

_"Y-y-yes, sir!"_

"For the galaxy's sake, don't pull the pins on any of them!"

There was a beat of static. Revan knew the soldier had almost done just that. _"Acknowledged, General."_

"Get ready." Revan reached out with the Force. He probed the air and formed a sort of hovering proximity alarm in the air above the center of the town square. If anything breached its circumference, he would be able to sense it. "Now, soldier, _now!"_

One second passed.

Two seconds.

Revan began to wonder if the soldier on the other end of the commlink had been killed or misunderstood the orders. He began to feel the cold prickle of panic and worry on the back of his neck. But then—

"Got it!" Revan exclaimed as he gripped the grenade belt through the Force and yanked it down toward himself. He reached his hand out and the collection of grenades found him.

"Caution!" The droid shook again. " _THEFT_ is a crime punishable by Judicial Arbitration! The authorities will be contacted if _THEFT contin—"_ The merchant's head exploded, giving way to a direct hit by a blaster bolt. Revan and Malak both smiled at this.

"Okay, Malak. I've got a job for you." Revan began to carefully pry the handheld frag grenades off of the belt and set them on the floor. "I need you to tie a grenade to each power cell.

Malak frantically searched for something to bind the two together, but came up empty-handed; though an idea was quick to follow. He ignited his lightsaber, granting a bright, yellow tint to the inside of the kiosk. Using the blade, he sheared off a large strip of his Jedi robes. From there, he tore the fabric into smaller strips by hand until he had enough makeshift rope to tie a power cell to each grenade. With Revan's help, they were done in no time.

"This is where things get tricky," Revan breathed. "I'm going to need a lot of help from you."

Malak was quick to say, "Anything."

Smiling, Revan continued. "I'm going to guide these _bombs_ toward the middle of the square. When they get there, I need you to manipulate the pin on each one and help me push them toward the Mandalorians."

This prompted a raised eyebrow from Malak. "Run that by me again?"

"These bombs," Revan pointed to the grenade and power cell collection, "need to end up into each side of this square with their pins pulled."

"Using only the Force?" Malak still couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Unless you want to stretch your throwing arm and take a walk out there."

Malak stopped himself from saying the first thing that came to mind. "You're placing a lot of faith on the possibility that we'll even be able to maneuver those things to the right targets. What if we accidentally hit one of our own squads?"

"It's not a matter of faith, Malak," Revan replied. "Faith is of no use us. I _believe_ in our ability. If I didn't have that belief, we'd still be on Dantooine right now." He manipulated the makeshift bombs into the air and began to move them out to the center of the square.

"I'm not ready for this, Revan."

"Neither is the enemy." Revan activated his commlink. "This is General Revan. All squads move away from the surrounding buildings. Make for the statue at the center of the court. Move!" There were a few objections, but the squads began to leave their cover and sprint off to the center statue of the Onderonian woman as if she would grant them protection.

"Now, Malak!"

The pins fell from the bombs, dropping onto the heads of a few Republic soldiers. Then, with a calculated push with the Force, the makeshift bombs zipped through the air and into the windows of eight Mandalorian emplacements.

Three. Two. One—

The buildings that made up the perimeter of the town square shattered and vaporized. Revan could feel the enduring presence of his enemy begin to fade into nothingness as another cloud of thick, pulverized debris settled around them.

And as the dust settled in the Iziz town square, another wave of silence enveloped the soldiers and Jedi Knights of the strike team. But this time, Revan welcomed it.


	15. The Liberation of Iziz: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"We fought many soldiers during the Mandalorian Wars. The Onderonians were certainly brave—but they were disorganized and stupid."_
> 
> -Mandalore the Preserver (3,951 BBY)

The Republic troopers marched in a parallel formation up the northernmost road out of the town square. They broke through the dust victorious; each soldier holding their weapons high and confidently, a few of them even wearing the barest hint of a smile on their faces. In that moment, as the buildings of the square continued to crumble behind them, they felt invincible, like they could win: a feeling they had not experienced in such a very long time.

Revan and Malak took point at the head of the formation, with the rest of the Jedi flanking the army at equal lengths apart. Their senses were on edge and their eyes continuously scanned the buildings around them for any sign of hostiles. They kept their focus on the Force, waiting for something in their surroundings to disrupt the quiet they had created with blaster fire, grenades, and power cells.

After rounding another corner, they found that the road they walked would eventually cross a wide and elegantly-crafted path of red stone. On either side of this path were gray statues of Onderonian guards at their ready. The strike team had found the road to the Sky Ramp.

Revan wasn't sure if troopers were ready for another skirmish so soon. Hardly a standard hour had passed since the last offensive, and the fight that was sure to take place on the ascent to the Iziz Palace was bound to be more _aggressive_.

The Sky Ramp: a half-kilometer climb toward the hilltop palace. It wound through the air to give it the appearance of a hovering river over the wide valley far below, which would provide some good cover on the curves, but Revan was more concerned with whether or not the Mandalorians would use the slant of the road to their advantage. A few hours ago, he might have believed to the contrary, but the enemy was not as bloodthirsty and reckless as he'd thought.

He wouldn't underestimate them this time. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.

As the army took their first steps onto the red brick road, Revan suddenly felt as though he'd been splashed with cold water. Everything began to weigh him down and his mind screamed at him.

Something was approaching. Something of decent size.

"Incoming," Revan said, and that was all it took. The troopers scattered to take up defensive positions, some of them dragging trash dumpsters and cargo containers out onto the sidewalks to provide extra cover. Less than thirty seconds later, the army was in position and waiting.

The Jedi Knights stood out in the open, their lightsabers ignited and ready. Revan took a step forward, away from the line, to show whomever approached who the leader of the Republic outfit was. Minutes passed and nothing showed. The waiting was killing him. He spun his handgrip around his fingers in a steady motion, and when the first sign of movement presented itself on the road before them, the saber snapped back into a ready position.

The beings that approached weren't Mandalorians, but there were many of them: an army nearly the size of the Republic strike team, marching in unison in perfect rows of seven. Catching sight of the Jedi Knights and the strike team behind them, this unknown army stopped in their tracks by their leader's command.

Revan walked out to meet this leader halfway between the two armies. The man was human. He had a firm gaze, a squared jaw, and a rugged complexion that could have either been shaped from age or experience. His eyes hardly blinked or broke away from the Jedi. Revan couldn't sense the slightest bit of fear in the man, but he wasn't entirely sure this was good thing.

"Are we going to have trouble here?" the leader said evenly.

Revan shrugged. "I sincerely hope not." He motioned to the strike team at his back. "I've got a whole group of soldiers here who'd much rather use up their ammo on the Mandalorians."

The man grinned. His teeth were perfectly straight and white and boxed off by his dark gray beard. "I do believe I can say the same for my soldiers." He held out a hand. "I am called Vaklu, General of the Onderonian army."

Revan shook the hand. "General Revan Versirath, Republic army."

"Indeed." Vaklu pointed to the lightsaber in Revan's hand. "I trust _general_ isn't the only rank that you hold."

Revan snickered. "It is when you join a war that the Order wants no part of."

"I see." The general seemed genuinely intrigued. "Forgive my boldness, we're a sovereign nation, so although I'm certainly aware of the Jedi Order, I'm afraid I've never heard of a Jedi defector before."

"It's a very atypical occurrence." Revan's eyes scanned the desolate scene around them. "As I'm sure you understand."

"Hmm." Vaklu crossed his arms. "Am I to assume that you and yours will be marching on the Sky Ramp, as well?"

"You assume correctly."

"Then the Onderonian army will certainly welcome any assistance on our march but, as I said, this is a sovereign nation…"

"I assure you, General, our sole purpose here is to liberate the system and deal a significant blow to the enemy war effort. Your sovereignty will be well-intact after our goal—our _common_ goal, that is—has been accomplished."

The general grinned. "You speak well for one so young."

"Thank you," Revan said with a courteous bow. "And you speak well for one so old."

"Ha! And brave, too!" Vaklu burst into a fit of laughter. "Oh, yes. Only old on the outside, General Revan," he said. "Only on the outside." He clapped the Jedi on the shoulder and turned back toward his soldiers. "I think we should get our two groups acquainted."

Revan nodded, watching the man walk away. Something still didn't feel right about General Vaklu's blatant lack of fear. The emptiness sang of a man who had fought the good fight already, and failed. A man who marched now for victory, but a victory in which liberating his homeland and a glorious death held equal meaning.

* * *

The orange armor of the Republic strike team and the gray uniforms of the Onderonian resistance blended together as each of the soldiers made proper introductions. Revan sat on a cargo container with the rest of the Jedi Knights, Malak close at his side. Their running commentary had been on for a while.

"I don't know," Malak murmured, shaking his head. "I'm not so sure our new friends can be trusted to help us out."

"What makes you say that?" Revan knew what his friend would say. He just wanted to hear it for himself.

Malak smiled. "Notice how the colors are separating." He pointed to the coalition of armies and it was true, the orange and grays were beginning to divide to their respective sides. "I think we have similar goals, but I don't believe we will be able to agree on a set path to achieve them."

"Which is ironic, isn't it?" Revan quipped. "There's only one large, rather obvious road to the palace."

"They're going to mess this up for us."

"I can't imagine they'll make things easier, but as long as we're all shooting in the same direction, everything should work out. For now." Revan steepled his fingers, looking over the crowd. "I don't sense a negative energy from them. I don't sense much of _anything_ from them. That's what worries me."

"It doesn't fit."

"No, it does not."

"What can we do about it?"

There wasn't much that Revan could suggest. The two armies were going in the same direction, whether he liked it or not. For the first time in his life, something pained him about giving the typical Jedi response. "Be mindful of the Living Force, Brother. That's all we can do." With a problem so immediate, but yet so unknown, giving that response felt like admitting defeat.

Malak nodded absently. The answer didn't seem to satisfy him either. "There's another matter that we haven't discussed." His finger waved across the nearby buildings. "Has anyone else seen the civilians we're supposed to be liberating?"

The other Knights couldn't answer, but the question persuaded Revan to his feet. He moved through the soldiers until he was standing before General Vaklu, who had been caught up in a lighthearted conversation with one of the Republic officers.

"Ah! General Revan," Vaklu said. "Ready for the charge, are we?"

Revan ignored this. "Do you have a moment?"

"Certainly!" The general politely led Revan away beyond the crowd.

"Who's this?" Revan pointed to a second Onderonian officer who had joined them. Vaklu jumped in surprise at this officer's presence, as if he hadn't noticed him.

"Oh, Revan, this is my second-in-command, Colonel Tobin." Vaklu stood aside to allow Tobin and Revan to make introductions. "He's like my second eye. I don't always know he's there, but without him I'd be half-blind on the battlefield."

Again, Revan ignored the general's rambling. "If I might ask, where are the citizens of Iziz? Besides you and your merry men, I've yet to see a single man, woman or child."

It was then, at the final syllable of Revan's query, that General Vaklu's face hardened to stone. His smile vanished, his stance widened, and his eyes burned with a flame of hatred that Revan had never seen before in his entire life.

"That's none of your concern," Vaklu said, leaving no room for argument. "If that's all that you wanted to talk to me about, then I'm afraid we won't have much of a conversation."

Revan couldn't help but stare at the general; examining him like an art-enthusiast might look upon an abstract painting. He was interested in this man's history, what made him tick and what prompted this dramatic change in personality. It was as if Revan had found a key to a door that he knew would have to be opened eventually, and he wanted to take it for himself.

"What troubles you, General?" Revan asked, bluntly.

Vaklu centered his gaze and lowered his head as if to say, _Don't push this, boy._ "What troubles me is that our enemy still breathes while many of our fellow citizens do not. That should be enough for you."

"You said you would welcome our assistance." Revan wasn't going to stop prodding the man for secrets. He was too drawn in, he couldn't look anywhere else. "You would welcome _our_ assistance? So lightly, you said this earlier. As if our being here didn't even matter." He nodded, thinking his way through the puzzle standing in front of him. "But it _does_ matter. How long have the Mandalorians occupied this world? How long have you been at their mercy? It's been a long time, if our intel is right. A long time. Why wouldn't you want our help?"

"I suggest…" Vaklu's arm fell to the blaster pistol at his side, "...that you drop the matter."

"I wonder what they must have done to you people during that time. How they must have toyed with you." Revan was getting closer now. He could _sense it_ : the general's essence drawing near. "You must have fought. You _must_ have. But it wasn't enough, was it? You couldn't save everyone, so you—"

Revan broke through. What he found caused him to take a step back. It was deep void: a darkness so consuming that flames burned forth and consumed Vaklu's heart, his mind—his spirit, wholesale.

Everything had been taken away from this man. Everything but the flame, his willingness to fight.

"What have you done, General?" Revan asked. He knew the only thing keeping Vaklu from gunning him down was the Republic strike team not three meters away, and the Jedi Knights that stood among them.

Vaklu gritted his teeth. "I did what any other man would do in my position. I saved this city."

"If this attack fails, then you may have just damned it."

"If this attack fails, then it wouldn't matter either way, would it?" By the general's shouting, every soldier in the coalition stood fast. "To answer your questions: the Mandalorians _have_ been here a long time. A very long time. I've lost track of the days. They were on the palace steps before we even knew they were here. We gathered for a counterattack, but our base was raided and torn apart before we could march on them. We were at their mercy!

"Those of us who survived, tried to make it home to protect our families… but for many of us, even that proved to be… _futile._ "

Revan didn't dare interrupt the man.

"We had to watch—watch as our friends and families were hunted and slaughtered for _sport_. They called it a game! A damn game! They hunted us by skin color, eye color, age, and sex—it was never enough. So those of us that could fight or handle a weapon, we led what was left of our city out into the jungle. We left them with as many soldiers we could spare… and we marched…"

Vaklu addressed the Jedi, with not a hint of sadness, guilt, remorse, or anger. There was only a promise. The willingness to complete the goal like a droid fulfills its programming.

"If we fail here today, then maybe the jungle will claim what remains of our city, and maybe it won't. Maybe the few beast-riders out there who are friendly to the city will assist them, maybe they won't. But here, within the walls of Iziz, only death that awaits our brethren. A cruel and unforgiving death that will last as long as the enemy finds it amusing."

Vaklu shrugged. "What have I _done_ , General Revan?" he echoed the question. "I've given my city the only chance it had. Even if it was only a chance in hell." He walked away, brushing past Revan as he did. "I believe we are sufficiently acquainted now, General. It's about time we go to war."

Where he stood, Revan could only watch the general walk away. He felt burned by the darkness in Vaklu's spirit, but he savored the pain and embraced it. He remembered the sensation of learning a new way to bring himself closer to the Force during his time at the Dantooine Academy. He remembered the excitement and the power the experiences had brought him.

He felt that same sensation now.

Revan smiled. It was as if the galaxy had just gotten a lot less complicated. He had felt darkness in the hearts of the living: the same darkness that he had merely sensed in Admiral Saul Karath and so many others in his life. It wasn't something that he felt, given the situation around him, he should simply brush off and ignore.

So he didn't.


	16. Victory Conditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm out of it for a little while and everybody gets delusions of grandeur!"_
> 
> -Han Solo (4 ABY)

It was then, at the end of the road, that Revan stood to ponder what he had made of himself. He felt his lightsaber alive in his hand. He heard the cold silence of a room brimmed with the corpses of his enemy, which soon began to dissipate into an uproarious cheer in his honor. He was confused, intrigued, and all things a thinking man in the dark must be to continue on.

Revan let the crowd of soldiers pick him up and hold him high in the air—the conquering hero they claimed he was—and they carried him through the massive, gold-encrusted double-doors leading out of Iziz Palace. His fellow Jedi Knights smiled to themselves, as if what had happened hadn't surprised them in the least. The Onderonian officers cheered and hollered, but mostly among themselves. And the Republic soldiers chanted his name.

_"REVAN! REVAN! REVAN!"_

Some fired their blasters in the air, while others tore off the helmets of the Mandalorian dead and placed them on the barrels of their rifles, mocking their enemy's existence.

Revan saw none of this. The only thing that broke into his dimming window of observation was the Sky Ramp itself as the makeshift parade reached the end of the royal courtyard. He looked upon its cratered, crumbling form and stared into it intensely.

There came a time, only hours ago, when Revan had felt the road before him begin to split. The decisions that were placed before him made less sense than they would have before this war. There were larger outcomes to his actions than he had ever conceived and, suddenly, walking the Jedi's path no longer came easy. It was a troubling dilemma that had nearly claimed his life so many times during the battle.

He regarded the Sky Ramp silently, as the Republic solders beneath continued to bounce him high into the air. There was something almost supernatural about what he'd experienced. There had only been one true physical road that led to this point in time, it didn't feel that way. Not really. He felt as though there had been two, and he wasn't sure if he had picked the right one.

* * *

**-Three Hours Earlier-**

* * *

The Jedi Knights, again, took up the frontline of the march, bursting through the main gate of the Sky Ramp and ushering up its smooth red-stone walk with as much haste as they could manage without losing focus. The Sky Ramp was wide enough for two speeders to pass each other unabated and, even with its many curves, more than wide enough for the coalition army to stay at arm's length apart in rows of eight.

The border walls of white brick were of shoulder-height, effectively blocking a full view of the Mandalorian-occupied palace. The soldiers of the Republic and Onderonian armies felt decently protected with the walls on either side of them, but they also knew they were walking into the fray as blind as Ruusan bats. And with this battle being the determining factor of the Mandalorian Wars, most felt they'd rather be exposed and informed than blind and protected.

Revan stayed on point, with Malak just off his right shoulder and General Vaklu in tow. They had already led their armies a quarter of the way up the Ramp and not one blaster bolt had yet been discharged. Though Revan did not take the peaceful mood to be a good thing; he saw what their presence had caused through the Force: the Mandalorian-occupied Iziz Palace was buzzing with activity. It gave Revan the impression of a snake on the recoil, and that at any given moment that snake would lash out viciously.

"No one stay too close to the walls," Revan ordered. "If you get pinned down, make sure you're crouched. _Do not_ stand next to the walls."

Malak turned, surprised by the sudden orders. "What was that about?"

"I…" Revan stuttered with the words, "felt like I had to say something."

"Are you sensing something that I'm not?"

"Oh—" Revan snorted a laugh, "I'm sure you can sense this."

"Can't pick out a thing in all this chaos. I'm just not sure at all how they're gonna come at us."

A few paces more, the coalition army began to round another curve in the Ramp.

"Just keep your eyes forward," Revan said. "That's all we can do to prepare for now. There _is_ much chaos, but it's all ahead of us."

None of this put Malak at ease. "I'd just… like to see what we're dealing with before we actually deal with it."

"Not all things in life can be met with preparation, my brother," Revan replied. "All we can do is stand fast against the unknown."

Vaklu cut in. "You should listen to Revan." His voice was energetic, as if he were speaking through a smile. "It's like I always say: walk softly and carry a big gun." His arm reached out and clapped Malak on the shoulder. The Jedi Knight tensed visibly.

"I'm aware of this," Malak replied disdainfully. "Just because you can prepare yourself doesn't mean you should go looking for trouble, though."

"True," Revan said with a nod. "When at odds with the unknown, restraint is the most desirable of actions." He shrugged helplessly. "But we really don't have a choice in the matter, do we?"

Malak bit his lip. "I suppose not."

"Because the moment we show restraint is the moment we die."

"Become _one with the Force_ , you mean?"

"That, too," Revan said. "Though, I'd rather we didn't use that as a safety net. We must fight like nothing awaits us on the other side of death."

Revan's arm snapped up, signaling the armies to halt. He was silent for a long while, prompting General Vaklu to speak.

"Is there something ahead, Jedi?" he asked.

Revan still didn't answer. His arm still hung in the air and his eyes retained a questionable gaze, as if he had just been hit over the head. "Something's coming," he muttered. "I don't know…"

Finally, the rest of the coalition was in on the Jedi's secret. A collection of low beeping noises began to rise with intensity from the direction of the palace. It sounded like the inside of an active cockpit. The soldiers readied their weapons, frantically scanning the pathway ahead of them for any sign of the enemy.

"Knights!" Revan shouted. "Prepare to engage! No sabers!"

Each of the Jedi on the frontline did a double-take, Malak included.

"What?"

Revan didn't reply. He sheathed his lightsaber and assumed the traditional focus stance. As he did this, their assailants rolled into sight.

"What are those?" Vaklu bayed.

From around the nearest curve in the Sky Ramp, a wave of metallic spheres the size of Endoran blumfruits rolled toward the armies like a flashflood. There didn't seem to be any end to them, and most of the soldiers had no idea what the spheres were, but Revan knew. He could sense the endless tangles of circuitry within each of the devices that lead down into a thick core of explosive compounds. Through the Force, the spheres felt like large, rolling grenades.

"Don't let them touch you!" Revan called back to the coalition of soldiers. "They're contact sensitive!"

The spheres were only a few meters off, and Revan was the first to make his move. He reached out through the Force, laying a foundation beneath the devices, and with a motion of his arms, a large cluster of the things were flung into the air.

The rest of the Knights did the same, using the Force to throw groups of the spheres off of the Ramp. They could hear and feel the massive explosions as the first clusters impacted the ground far below.

The Jedi all worked as one, laying foundations through the Force in sections and connecting them like oversized puzzle pieces so that no device got past them.

"Good work!" Revan said, throwing another group of the explosives over the border wall. "We're nearly there!"

Just as he said this, two of the Knights laid their foundations too far apart, allowing one of the devices to roll free and move casually between their legs.

Revan cried, "Look out!"

The soldiers frantically moved out of the sphere's way, pushing, shoving and jumping at each other in the process. But as one soldier went to move out of the way, he was unintentionally pushed backward. He stumbled, and his leg struck the sphere.

The left flank of the coalition formation erupted into flame, decimating the border wall nearby and sending mangled soldiers drifting over the Ramp's edge. The frightful pang of death spiked through the Force and into the minds of the young Jedi Knights, but Revan didn't let it affect him. He _couldn't_. But for others, this was easier said than done. Their focus was waning, skipping around like a magnetized holofeed.

To make matters worse, the Mandalorians had noticed their spherical devices had been successful, and were sending down another wave of the rolling explosives.

The situation overwhelmed Revan. He hesitated for a second.

_"…a choice that isn't a choice."_

_"Indifference is the bane of the living."_

But _only_ a second.

Revan reached out again into the Force, focusing deep into the stone walkway. He called upon all his strength, giving everything he was fully to the power of the Force. The Sky Ramp began to shake; the stone beneath the rolling devices cracked and the border walls crumbled.

With one final push, a large section of the Sky Ramp broke free, hovering into the air, suspended by pure will. Revan manipulated the stone slab to an angle, so that every approaching device fell harmlessly into the valley below. And when the rest of the Jedi had taken care of the remaining devices already on their way, they helped Revan keep the chunk of stone hovering.

No more devices came. Revan, his face drenched in sweat, carefully moved the severed section of the Ramp back into place.

"Everybody move!" he ordered the soldiers. "We can't... keep this up for much longer!"

"You heard the Jedi!" Vaklu shouted. "Move! Move! Move! Double-time!"

The Republic and Onderonian soldiers sprinted across the hovering stone slab as fast as they could. The Jedi Knights were close behind, moving across one at a time, each turning to help pick up the workload again when they were safely on the other side. It wasn't long before Revan and Malak were the last two remaining.

"Have you got it?" Malak asked.

"Yeah," Revan wheezed. "Hurry…"

Malak released his grip and bounded across the slab in a few paces. "Come on, my brother, it's your time!"

"It certainly is…" Revan muttered to himself. He let go of his grip as well, but the other Jedi had trouble compensating and the section of the Sky Ramp began to fall. Without stopping to think, he ran toward the edge and leapt into the air with his remaining strength, hoping to catch an elevated piece of the falling slap to kick off of. But when both of his feet fell on level ground, he looked around to discover that he had cleared the entire gap.

The Jedi and the coalition looked upon him in awe.

* * *

Revan's memory skipped back. He was in the arms of the coalition soldiers, their cheers cutting through the air and the Jedi's smiles surrounding him on all sides.

Finally, they set him back down at the head of the Sky Ramp, letting him look down upon the city below—the city to which he had just returned the hope of freedom. But all he saw was the scorched, blackened and bloodied mess that the Sky Ramp had become. Bodies of the coalition soldiers still littered the ascent. Burn marks from blasters and craters from grenades detailed nearly every centimeter of the walkway.

The white and red stone beneath it all had become a minor detail.

He continued staring despite himself, the sounds around him becoming quieter by the second. Everyone shouted for their first real victory over the enemy.

 _Victory_? Revan couldn't wrap his mind around it. So much death and sacrifice. How could this possibly be a victory? He didn't know what to think anymore. Maybe he had been over-confident—even arrogant, perhaps—to think that he could have saved everyone. To think that he could have entered this war and won it over with minimal casualties. He knew there would be death and loss. But not like this.

And yet, the soldiers cheered on. In their hearts and minds, Revan felt it: this _was_ a victory for them. He had condemned so many of his troopers to death by his orders. As it stood, nearly half of his initial army had been slaughtered during the charge on the palace.

And yet, they cheered on.

It was then that Revan glimpsed into the eyes of the beast. He had felt the darkness in the hearts of men like General Vaklu and Admiral Karath, and he embraced it, thinking it to be a key to open some secret to warfare. How could he have known that the answer would present itself so soon?

Revan spoke under his breath as he came to the realization. No one could hear him say, "War is not won, it's lost." _Victory goes to the side that loses the least._ He felt lost and condemned. There were no saints fighting this war. The light did not hold its sway over the Republic battlefields.

There was only darkness within those who fought for victory, but it was not a darkness of the spirit as Revan had previously believed it to be. It was much, much more than that. He nearly trembled when the answer came to him.

 _The dark side_.

It was strong in this place. So strong that he had not felt it, he had subconsciously embraced it and grown accustomed to it, just as he had to the alien smell of the air. But now that he was aware of it, he could remember it guiding his every step through the battlefields he had carved through Iziz. The death of his soldiers and the pain that came from their loss—his failure—gave him the strength to move on, to rip the Sky Ramp apart, and to dominate his foe so savagely.

But where had the light been? Where had the teachings of the Jedi been when death surrounded him? Was it the essence of the world that had banished it away, or was it himself? Had he given up the light so easily?

Revan shook his head. The questions-with-no-answers were giving him a headache.

With the Iziz Palace taken and the anti-air guns disabled, a surge of trooper-packed N7's were drifting down into both the palace courtyard and the city below. The mission was finally completed.

Revan felt a grip on his shoulder and his eyes followed the pale, dirty arm all the way up to a head of mud-encrusted red hair. "You made it," he said to Meetra.

She smiled, but it didn't hold the same brightness that it had back on Dantooine. Right now, it seemed purely a formality. "You had doubts?"

"A few," Revan teased.

Her gaze fell to the ground. "Then you had a lot less than me."

* * *

Night had fallen over the city of Iziz. The courtyard of the royal palace was packed to the hastily-renovated Sky Ramp with cheering citizens, returned from the jungle wilds largely unharmed. The yard was lit with torches and glow orbs, illuminating the vigorous celebration.

At the head of the yard, near the gold-trimmed double-doors of the palace, a stage had been erected from the royal dinner tables covered in cloth. Upon it, the Jedi Knights stood proudly, with Revan, Malak and Meetra standing at the forefront. They smiled and waved and did their best to look gracious, although a large part of each of them still dwelled on the battle earlier that day.

Trumpets sounded, and through the palace doors walked a beautiful young woman adorned in the finest silks. She bowed gracefully to the Jedi Knights, made all the more important by the fact that she was the ruler of the whole of Onderon: Queen Talia. The Jedi returned the bow graciously while the Queen addressed General Vaklu at her side. He happily produced a long, wooden box, which opened to reveal several golden medallions.

Queen Talia slowly placed a medallion around the neck of each Jedi Knight, saving Revan and his companions for last. For each of these Jedi, the Queen planted a kiss on the medallions before setting them around their necks. Her bright red lips parted into a thankful smile, and she stepped to the side for the citizens of Iziz to look upon their saviors.

With the honor and trust of an entire planet bestowed upon the beaming Jedi Knights: the crowd's cheers turned into a grateful frenzy, the music of the royal heralds played loudly around the court, and the stars above their heads shone brightly—as a new hope for the galaxy spread like wildfire among them.


	17. IV: Through Power, I Gain Victory

Mandalore looked through the viewport of his private quarters. He sighed loudly, frustrated by many things. But what pushed him beyond anger and well into fury was the sight of his grand fleet being divided before his very eyes. Nearly a quarter of his ships, dreadnaughts and battlecruisers among them, broke away into their own tiny armada. A moment later, that armada was gone into hyperspace.

The Mandalorian leader roared, frightening his guards as he brought his vibroblade up to hack away at the transparisteel of his viewport.

He had many fleets spread across the whole of Republic space and had certainly lost his share, but this was the first time, in the three years of open war against the Republic, that he had been forced to sacrifice ships from his own fleet to support another.

Mandalore the Ultimate, they had named him. The singular herald of his race's entire future and the voice of a warrior nation. This conflict was his war—his masterpiece. He had guided his people to victory after countless victory. But now, the events playing out before him were not what he had intended.

He had not intended to lose his staging ground in the Onderon System a year ago. He had not intended to be pushed back time and time again, star system to star system, until he found his forces clinging to the Outer Rim like a beggar would his last coin. This Jedi Knight. This Revan that the dying and the wounded of his army always spoke of after many fierce battles: Mandalore had not intended to lose the war to this boy. He had not intended to lose the war at all!

Mandalore the Ultimate stood with his vibroblade still ringing from the impacts against his viewport. Suddenly, his namesake was beginning to sound like an echo in the galaxy. He could not let this happen.

"Bring me Cassus Fett!" Mandalore roared at his guards, who frantically darted through the doorway to summon the warrior.

Cassus had been forced to leave a scouting mission to return to Mandalore's fleet. Within the hour, Cassus Fett was escorted into the Supreme Leader's private chamber.

Mandalore looked the man over. Cassus faithfully wore his purple-tinted durasteel armor with his T-visor helmet tucked under his arm. His black hair had grown long over his dark red skin, and his eyes communicated only firm obedience. No fear. No question. Mandalore had summoned him, and he had come knowing full well what might happen.

"You summoned me, my liege?" Cassus said, standing tall at attention.

Mandalore addressed the black gap through the viewport, where a section of his fleet had previously been. He tapped at the transparisteel a few times. "You know what was there." It wasn't a question, but it demanded an answer.

"Yes," said Cassus. "We received intel that the Republic had set up a base of operations on the fourth moon of Yavin. The closest fleet we had was undermanned, so we had to…" His voice trailed off. "I am grateful that you approved my request to reinforce that fleet."

"Chasing ghosts at Yavin Four. That is not what I approved," Mandalore replied firmly. "If you had bothered to check our database, you would have found that the Republic navy abandoned that post not long after Jedi Knight Revan entered the war." He addressed Cassus. "I've come to expect Revan to outwit you on the battlefield, but not within the confines of our own fleet."

Cassus choked back the dishonor Mandalore had placed on him, and what he had been going to say regarding that particular Jedi. "If you read my most recent report concerning the skirmish at Jaga's Cluster, you will see that we've begun to push the Republic back. It was a clear victory for our side."

"Victory?" Mandalore laughed. "This victory that you cherish is but one sparkling diamond on the event horizon. It did not serve to further our goals, it only managed to put yet another dent in our reserves. This victory, or whatever you call it, was only slightly less damning than a real loss would have been."

"You must give me more time, my lord!" Cassus pleaded through aggravation. "Give me more warriors! Let come at them with everything we've got. We can break through their blockade at Coruscant, we can burn their Senate and their Jedi Temple to the ground and this war will be over! Revan and his band of miscreants will have nothing left to protect!"

Mandalore shook his head, disgusted. "To dream is such a fragile thing," he mused. "I once dreamed of giving my people the galaxy they deserved by right. I once dreamed that the Republic would burn with my name being the last word to escape their dying throats. I dreamed a great many things, Cassus Fett." He revealed his vibroblade to the man. "I dreamed you would be a strategist worthy of my fleet… So easily those dreams shatter."

Cassus was gripped from behind and brought to the floor. The guards slammed the man's head into the metallic flooring over and over until his body went limp and blood drained from his mouth.

"What are you doing!" Cassus moaned. "I did what no other could! I brought this galaxy to its knees!"

"Indeed you did," Mandalore said, holding Cassus' right hand flat against the floor. "You brought down the sky for us. You brought the Republic to its knees, yes, but there was one thing you couldn't do." He placed his blade over the strategist's trigger finger. "You couldn't stop Revan from picking it up again!"

He pressed down. The blade clipped through glove, flesh and bone until it connected with the floor. Cassus screamed and clutched his wound when the guards finally released him.

"You're of no use on the battlefield any longer," Mandalore said, casting his vibroblade aside. He continued, though Cassus could not hear through his own agony and ultimate dishonor. "There is nothing left for us anymore. Revan will continue to beat us back and we will do what any wounded animal will do before the final kill—become predictable."

He moved to his desk and activated a holomap of the galaxy proper. His finger traced the stars as he spoke. "We will scrounge for resources at Manaan. We will try to make a staging area in the thick of the Kashyyyk wilds. We will fall back to the emptiness of the Arkanis Sector to try and regroup—which we will—but it will be for naught. Revan will anticipate all of this, as he has always done under the worst of circumstances, and he will push until we will be forced to give everything we've got…

"And there will be only one place that he would deem suitable for this final battle between us. The one place where he will look for the advantage… and he will find it here."

Mandalore's finger fell back to the Outer Rim of the holomap and settled on a desolate planet of an isolated star system: the label on the map read, Fifth of the Malachor System.


	18. A Promise for the Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"What's there to say? Jolee Bindo is the crazy old man who lives in the dangerous woods. I am content with the impression I give."_
> 
> -Jolee Bindo (3,956 BBY)

Nightfall over the forest world of Kashyyyk came as a welcomed end to a rather brief conflict. Revan stepped over the Mandalorian corpses without so much as looking at them or addressing them. After months at war, the durasteel-armored bodies had become little more than a byproduct typical of Revan's works.

He cracked the tension out of his neck, his body still in the process of calming itself after the skirmish. Around him, Republic medics tended to the wounded of the field, however few there were, and the soldiers went about stripping down and salvaging the ships and weapons that the Neo-Crusaders had left behind.

Simple tasks like melting down the discarded armor and extracting power cells from the various weapons had proved invaluable to the war effort in the long run. This made repairs to damaged ships and infantry battle armor much more cost effective. Revan didn't think it would be long before the Republic would have a surplus of supplies on reserve.

Then again, he wasn't completely sure the war would be on long enough.

The ranks of the Mandalorian Fleet had broken, their ships and soldiers scattered across various systems in Republic space. This would make it difficult to effectively purge friendly territory of the intruders, but Revan had an idea of how to unite the Mandalorians in one place for one final battle. He would send a message, and there wouldn't be as much as a single enemy starfighter that wouldn't answer the call. He had learned much from his enemy over the last year, and their reverence for one particular world in the Malachor System was a constant.

But that was a battle that had yet to come. Revan didn't want to dwell on tactics any longer; there would be another time for that. For now, there was one more task left to accomplish on Kashyyyk before control of the planet was restored to the Wookiees. Though, Revan knew as soon as the Republic was safely off-world, the Czerka Corporation would reintegrate itself into the working order, however unfortunate.

"Commander Acys." Revan's call brought a Twi'lek officer bounding up to him. The alien saluted with a prosthetic arm that he had earned during the invasion of Duxn a year ago.

"Yes, General Revan?"

"You will supervise the recovery effort here. Report to General Surik in my absence."

"Yes, sir," Acys replied quickly. "And… what should I tell command? Where will you be going?"

"Malak and I will be scouting the surrounding forest for any enemy stragglers that may have fled."

Acys scoffed. "Can't be a whole lot of Mandies left after what we did to them."

"I agree," Revan replied, smiling. "We won't be long."

"Very good, sir. We'll have the meadow policed in time for your return." Acys finished with another salute.

Revan returned the favor. "Carry on." He turned away from the clean-up effort and strolled off toward the treeline. He could already see Malak leaned up against a tree with two swoop bikes hovering motionless nearby.

Revan's commlink beeped. _"General Revan, do you copy?"_

"Yes, Captain Morris," he replied, mildly annoyed. "Go ahead."

_"The Mandalorian fleet in orbit has completed their retreat into hyperspace. Do you want us to send any scouts in behind them?"_

"No, don't worry about them. They'll be spending the next few days making random jumps to throw us off their tail, anyway. Keep our ships in a low orbit for now. We'll see them again soon enough."

 _"Yes, General,"_ Captain Lin Morris said. _"It seems they've left a few damaged ships behind. Our sensors indicate that their hyperdrive systems took a beating in the initial attack. Do you want us to take prisoners?"_

"Are their weapons still operational?" Revan asked.

_"Yes, on all accounts."_

Revan shrugged, not even blinking as he said, "No. Get a weapons lock and dust them."

_"Sir?"_

"I don't need any of our ships damaged at this point. They'll unload with everything they have if we attempt to board. They pulled the same stunt at Jaga's Cluster. No, just don't give them that opportunity. Shoot first and salvage the remains. Don't get in too close."

 _"A-aye, sir,"_ the captain responded, her voice shaky. _"Moving into attack formation. Captain Morris out."_

Revan tapped his commlink off. He stood thinking for a moment, giving more consideration to his captain's wellbeing than to the Mandalorian fleet that was about to be smashed into atmospheric debris. He couldn't allow his officers to entertain the idea of an amicable outcome in this war. It would only lead to more hesitation in the future, which was something he could not afford at this point.

He'd think about that later, though. Malak was waiting.

* * *

The companions didn't quite know which way to go. Not yet, anyway. The Force was their compass, and they gave into it fully. All they had to do was ride and everything would take care of itself.

With each passing minute, the skies grew darker as the forestation around them grew larger and larger. At the start of their journey, the trees had only been a few meters wide at the trunk, but now, even on swoops, it took a while to navigate around them.

Revan took a hand off the handlebars and activated a holomap of the planet's _known_ surface. The area they were fast approaching was labeled as the Shadowlands; a part of the Wookiee homeworld where the forest was at its densest, with each of the trees within grown up to and over a kilometer in height. Revan looked upward briefly. He couldn't even see the tops of the trees anymore, only pale trunks that extended up into an overhang of pitch black shadow.

"We're getting close," Revan called to Malak. He was sure of it: the Shadowlands was where their next waypoint awaited them.

Malak's swoop bike began to slow to a stop. Revan followed suit.

"What's wrong?" Revan asked, releasing his bike's throttle. "Do you sense something?"

"No." Malak sniffed at the air. "I _smell_ something."

"Smell?" Revan tilted his head up and took a deep whiff of the forest air. There _was_ something off about it. "It almost smells like…"

Malak finished, "Smoke?"

"Yeah." Revan's brow rose. "All the way out here?"

Malak's eyes had taken up a predator-like glint. They were unblinking and judged every shadow around him. "It's possible there's a camp nearby. Maybe some surviving Mandalorians."

"The Mandies would never do such a thing. They just lost a battle. To build themselves a fire on the first day would be a mercy, and not one they'd accept. If we did leave any alive, they'll be wandering in shame for quite some time. If the wildlife doesn't get to them first."

"Should we investigate, then?"

"Couldn't hurt. Let's follow our noses and see where they take us."

The friends powered up their swoop bikes again. They were able to decide on a direction toward the source of the smoke and rode hard. They were just about at the deepest, darkest part of the Shadowlands when a brief glimmer of twilight from above illuminated a gray fog around them. They rounded one more gargantuan tree and, finally, they arrived. To affect stealth, they cut their bikes' engines and proceeded on foot, keeping their steps light through the brush. The Jedi moved up behind a root of chest-height and surveyed the area before them.

At the base of the next nearest tree was a small cabin that had been cut into one of the massive roots. A fire within lit up the portals of the small dwelling in a dim, flickering orange light. It was the most inviting-looking location that the two friends had seen in a very long time—and of all places, it sat warmly within the dark of the Shadowlands.

Malak, who had been on edge during the entire ride, almost melted away at the sight of the cabin. "I guess we found our smoke," he said, pointing to a small chimney protruding from the top of the root.

"Indeed," said Revan, at a loss for words.

Despite its welcoming and homely appearance, the companions approached the cabin cautiously, their hands tapping at the handgrips of their lightsabers. When they reached the door, they exchanged unsure looks.

"Do we…" Malak gripped his hand over the door. "Do we knock? Or…?"

Revan bit his lip. "I was wondering that myself."

Without giving it a second thought, Malak knocked once—only once. His hand stayed connected with the wood, and he ran an open palm over the grains of it. "Oh, my," he awed. "Revan, feel this."

Revan shot his friend a questioning look before he touched the wood, as well. A chill ran down his spine and his entire body warmed with a soothing energy. He wasn't sure how this was possible: this cabin was _alive_ with the Force. He could feel it so strongly through the door; it was as if he was touching the outside of a furnace.

"Wow," said Revan.

"Yeah."

"Knock again."

"What?"

Revan pointed to the door. "Knock again."

" _You_ knock!" _  
_

"Come on!"

"We don't know what's in there. I haven't felt this kind of power since the Coruscant Temple. In a place like this it could only be…" Malak looked around, as if he was afraid of being overheard. "It could only be the _Sith_."

Revan scoffed, and very nearly laughed at the prospect. "Come on." He knocked on the door himself, hard and loud. "I guess we'll find out now." A devilish grin spread across his face.

"Are you—!" Malak looked around again, but this time instinct drove him: he was looking for backup. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"Malak, I'm a General in the Republic army. I should hope, for the galaxy's sake, that I know what I'm doing." He slapped Malak on the back, just as hard as he had knocked on the door. "When have I ever led you astray?"

Malak counted on his fingers. "Do you want the full list or my personal top five?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Because there was that incident on Manaan. That time we ended up on Felucia. Not to mention that business with—"

"Stop right there," Revan interrupted. "That business on Cato Neimoidia doesn't… _doesn't_ count."

"Say that all you like, but I know what I saw."

"Your senses deceive you, don't trust them."

Malak snorted. "Whatev—"

The door clicked and slowly creaked open, dousing the two Jedi and the surrounding forest in an orange glow. The friends adjusted to the bright light in a hurry and brought their sabers to their grips. Before they ignited their weapons, they took in the atmosphere that had presented itself.

The inside of the cabin was very plain, with only a bed and a crackling hearth standing out from everything else. The polished and rounded walls were lined with a few roughly-constructed shelves. Upon each shelf, a collection of forest knickknacks: from oversized seeds to wooden dolls.

And there, sitting as a shadow before the hearth, was the presence they had felt through the door. The Force swirled and eddied around this man, like the ocean moves through a coral reef. He was a part of it, as much as it was a part of him. But neither Revan nor Malak could determine if this was a sign of the light or dark side's presence. Neither side seemed to hold sway.

"Hello?" Revan called to the shadow.

The man did not move. He didn't seem to breathe. "I know why you've come," a voice said through a deep baritone. "I know what you're looking for, and you won't find it here."

Revan stopped in his tracks. "Excuse me?"

"In order to attain what you seek, you must first understand the road before you, and you must understand yourself if you are to walk it. Otherwise… there is no hope for you."

This prediction disturbed Revan. "Has the Force shown you this...?" he asked.

The shadow's head turned into the light, illuminating the form of a bald, black-skinned man with a bright smile that cut through the darkness of the room. "No, it didn't," he said. "But coming from an old hermit in the woods, that must have sounded damn scary, huh?"

Revan and Malak exhaled in unison.

"Oh, come on, now. Lighten up," the man said, getting to his feet. "No man can live a long life being _that_ serious about every little thing. You gotta learn to laugh every now and then. _Ho, ho, ho!_ Try it!" He motioned to the two Jedi, granting them their cue, but neither of them took it. "All right, suit yourselves. Laughing sincerely takes up quite a bit of air, and I'd hate to see it go to waste on you two downers."

"I…" Revan began, but started to struggle with what to say. "I'm sorry…?"

"What are you sorry for?" the old man snapped before Revan could finish. "You boys here to rob me?"

"No!" Revan was quick to say. "We just… We smelled the smoke and wondered… you know… what could be out here. And here we are."

"You're just wandering around?" The man stroked his white goatee, his gaze narrowing. "Wandering around?"

"Yeah?"

"Wandering around..." he repeated, "...in the _Shadowlands_?"

Malak stepped in. "We're commanders of the Republic army."

The old man tilted an ear toward the Jedi. "Eh?"

"The Republic army!" Malak repeated louder.

"Don't talk at me like I'm deaf, boy! I wanted to know what the Republic army was doing on Kashyyyk. Did those fatcats on Coruscant finally decide that Wookiee slave-labor isn't all that bad? Is that what you're doing here? Hmm?"

"No! Sir, it's nothing like that," Revan frantically insisted.

Once again, the old man broke out into laugher. "I'm just yanking your chains, boys. Stars above, you two are as humorless as a pack of rancors."

"I…"

"Come on in out of the cold. Come, come, and close the door behind you!" he insisted. _"Wait!"_

Revan and Malak froze.

The old man pointed to the floor. "Wipe your feet first."

The Jedi obliged and took a seat on the edge of the bed. The old man moved to the hearth and used a fire poker to remove a small, metal pot of bubbling stew. He looked over to the companions.

"Did I say you could sit there?" he snapped.

The two Jedi took their cue and laughed lightheartedly but, a few seconds in, the man's rather serious tone hadn't shifted. The room fell quiet.

The man's bright grin returned. "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't resist." He held out his hand in a way that felt more like a peace offering. "The name's Bindo. Jolee Bindo."

Revan thought it funny to run into a man with the last name Bindo. He wondered if the old man was ever mistaken for the Jedi from legend, but decided against asking. Something told him that this definitely wasn't the man who _pulled the first Bindo_. "Revan Versirath," said, shaking the man's hand.

Malak did the same. "Malak D'Quelli."

"Pleased to meet the both of you," Jolee said cheerfully. "Sorry for the display. As you can probably tell, a man can get rather bored out here."

Revan waved the apology away. "That's not necessary. I'm sorry that my friend and I aren't more accommodating. Jedi aren't typically trained in the subtle art of humor."

Jolee looked surprised. "Oh, really?" Revan's lightsaber flew into Jolee's hand. "Jedi can do anything if they put their mind to it," he said, smiling.

Malak's hand gripped his own lightsaber, wary of what this old man would do. "What are you going to do with that?"

"Absolutely, positively nothing," replied Jolee, tossing the lightsaber back to its owner. "If I had ill intentions, I would have taken yours as well." He stared at Malak, who shrunk in his seat. "Besides, I have one of my own." He pushed back his tunic to reveal a dirt-encrusted handgrip on his belt.

Revan admired the lightsaber, and spun his own around in his fingers. "Ah, I'm afraid to ask, but you wouldn't happen to be the same man from the Jedi legend?"

Jolee thought for a moment. "The one where I braved a marklar hive to save a nearby village?"

"Um... no?"

"Ran through there naked if I remember correctly. A lot of people don't forget a thing like that, you know?" He sighed. "But you must be talking about the _Bindo_ thing. In that case, yes, and no, I won't take that story any further."

"But you _are_ a Jedi, aren't you?"

"Nope," Jolee said quickly.

"So… you're a Sith?"

"What! No." Jolee hid his lightsaber back under his tunic. "If you had caught me a few decades earlier, I might have responded differently to your questions. Right now, I'm just Jolee Bindo—hermit of the Kashyyyk wilds, defender of the Shadowlands, retainer of a very dashing beard. Let's just leave it at that…" His eyes went vacant for a moment, almost solemn. "Though, I don't expect you to say the whole title every time you want to talk to me."

"Of course, not."

"Well, you can if you'd like. I won't stop you."

"That won't be necessary." Revan wanted to move the conversation along. "As for the reason why were here—"

"Would you like some stew?" Jolee said, as if he hadn't been paying attention.

"No, thank you, Mister Bindo."

"I wouldn't want any either, if I were you. Ever wonder what those military rations are actually made of? This stuff will probably taste familiar. Wouldn't want to spoil your appetite for the rest of your tour."

"Right." Revan ignored him. "My friend and I are looking for a lost artifact that we believe is somewhere in the Shadowlands."

Jolee took a wooden spoon from his belt and scooped a bit of the stew into it. He blew the steam away and sampled it. He grimaced. "Thought that tach looked sickly." He kicked the pot of stew away. "So, the Republic army is on Kashyyyk looking for ancient artifacts?"

"No, not exactly," Revan said. "The Republic is here clearing out an emplacement of Mandalorians. But that's not the—"

"Mandalorians?"

"Yes, there's been a war on with them for quite some time."

Jolee's face twisted into frustration. "Of course, there is! Why should I have thought any different?" He leaned back in his chair. "Worlds were burning when I came out here, and now… Sheesh... Was it selfish to ask for enough peace in the galaxy to carry me to my deathbed?"

Revan didn't respond to this. "We're looking for an artifact that would stand out in a place like this. Have you seen it or not?"

"Now, calm down, young man, calm down." Jolee rubbed the stress out of his forehead. "I've seen all sorts of things down here. There's wreckage from ships that my great-grandfather might have purchased second-handed. I don't quite know what you're looking for, but you might head west, toward the center of the Shadowlands. The Wookiees that happen by here always complain about that spot. That's about all I've got."

Revan nodded, finally satisfied. "Very good." He stood. Malak did, as well. "Thank you for your hospitality, Mister Bindo. I hope that you find whatever you're looking for down here."

Jolee grinned weakly. "I don't expect I'll live to see what I'm looking for. But thanks, anyways."

Revan nodded and led Malak to the door. As he opened it, Jolee called after him.

"It was supposed to be a joke."

"What was that?" Revan asked.

"What I said to you when you first walked in here. It was supposed to be a joke." Jolee shook his head. "I can sense… much truth in it, though. Be mindful of the Force, young Revan, because it grows dark around you. That light that I sense emanating from you is the strongest that I've ever felt. If that light fails… I fear that much more than a lone Jedi will fail with it." He nodded. "Be mindful."

Revan stared at the man and mockingly took his cue. He allowed a laugh the man had been waiting for and shut the door behind him.

* * *

Jolee sat alone in his cabin. He listened to the footfalls of the two Jedi growing distant out there in all that dark and all that cold. And then, his eyes sadly addressed the doorway. He felt as though he had missed an important chance to do something. He wasn't sure what, but the Jedi ways that he had embraced so long ago told him it had happened.

 _Again_ , it had happened. He had missed it.

He had failed to intervene, just as he had failed all those decades ago. He had been blinded by his own selfish pride, something he'd thought he had outgrown and outrun. For a bitter moment, he cursed the very Force around him.

But the Force whispered to Jolee just then. It calmed his senses and righted the wrongs within the storms of his mind. It told him that he would have one more chance to do the right thing, and it told him there would be consequences on a galactic scale should he fail a third time.

It continued whispering, all through the night. Jolee anticipated this approaching opportunity, and looked upon the doorway with energy renewed.

Jolee grinned. All he had to do was wait.

Wait for Revan to walk through that doorway one more time.


	19. Precursor to Oblivion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Mandalorians taught the Jedi much through battle. And so it was that Malak, Revan, and the Jedi that followed them discovered their true natures in the Mandalorian Crusade."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)

This is Malachor V:

You drop in from a high orbit and keep your approach vector steep, even as the clouds grow thick around you. When the mist fades, you are immediately taken in by the mountain-swept landscape and the many sparkling blue lakes that punctuate it. There are only scant amounts of true flat land; valleys interconnect and zigzag to form a series of ridges around the world. It looks like a giant ball of green yarn.

As you continue to descend, you draw in close to one of these valleys. Atop each ridge and spire-like mountaintop, rest small structures of red stone. This is a sacred place, and you're unsure if these settlements are armed in any way. But you forget about this: your ship scrapes across the thick, grassy fields that fill your valley. Strange-looking birds take flight, and long, skinny rodents hop away toward the safety of their nearby warrens.

This place is alive, and your presence stirs all that dwell here.

At the end of your valley, just before it cuts away in another direction, you shut down your engines and lower your starfighter gently onto the ground. The ship sinks into the soft earth, and so do your boots when you take your first steps outside.

Just at the edge of the valley, a tall waterfall empties from the ridge above and into a crystal-clear river only a few meters away. A gentle wind kicks up a thick mist from the falls and sends it in your direction. The mist cools your skin and soaks down into your core, and suddenly, you are a part of this world. It has accepted you into its embrace, because it is vast and wide and brimming with power and, in comparison, you are hardly noticeable. The world has plenty of room for you.

You step through the fields, leaving glossy footprints in the grass behind you. The river flows as it always has, even in your presence. Reaching over, you slip your bare hands into the waters and let the icy chill of it redden and numb your skin.

You feel at peace. With the mist at your back. With the whisper of the waving fields. With the endless green and the sound of rushing water in your ears—

You feel at peace.

But it can't last for long. Even stars must burn out. You activate a beacon in your pocket and the sky catches fire. From this arc of roaring flame that claims most of the blue sky for itself, a Republic hammerhead-class capital ship emerges, and begins to hover silently over your position.

The _Duskwind_ casts a shadow over your valley, and a dark cloud of N7 dropships spreads out from the hammerhead like the wings of an Iegoan Angel.

There is no going back. There is no victory without loss.

Your war will be _won_. Here. On this unsuspecting world that has taken you unto itself. It has shown you kindness, and you will show no mercy in return.

This is Malachor V.

And this will be the last time anyone in the galaxy will look upon it like this again.

* * *

From the hammerhead-class capital ship above, an N7 dropship hovered in, unloading a platoon of troopers within a few meters of Revan's starfighter. Each soldier carried a heavy crate of supplies: the makings of a base camp.

Revan ignored their work and splashed another handful of the cold river water onto his face. It was soothing to him at a time when not much else could be. When he finally turned around, he watched as the cloud of dropships descended upon the surrounding valleys. He could hear the barest hint of blaster fire in the wind; some of the colonies were giving his troopers some trouble. It wouldn't last long.

"General Revan," Commander Acys called out as he approached. "The drop is complete, sir. All of our men are en route to their respective destinations."

"What's the casualty report?" Revan asked, not so much as glancing at the Twi'lek.

"I just talked to the comm officer. He says thirteen wounded, no fatalities." Acys saluted proudly. "We've taken the planet, sir. Our men hardly broke a sweat."

"Good to hear." Revan slipped a pair of black gloves onto his hands. "Get back on the comm and inform all officers to allow the artillery and siege vehicles to be unloaded, but let them know that I may be rearranging their positions within the next couple of hours."

"Yes, sir."

"Then contact Captain Morris and tell her that I need scouts running all through this system. If the Mandies start arriving, I want to know from where. Tell her I want a report every hour."

"Yes, sir."

"And get our Skyhoppers to make a couple sweeps of the planet. All of our holomaps are outdated and I don't want any surprises." Revan took Acys by the shoulder. "Where are Generals D'Quelli and Surik?"

The Twi'lek pointed up toward the hovering capital ship above. "Should be landing here any moment."

Revan nodded. "Very good. You have your orders."

Another salute. "Yes, sir!" Acys turned and ran off into the commotion.

As the base camp began to take shape around Revan, another group of N7's landed in a nearby thicket. The ramps dropped. From two of the ships came another contingent of soldiers, and from the third: out walked Admiral Saul Karath with Malak and Meetra in tow.

"Revan!" Karath cheered, spreading out his arms as if he was about to take Revan up into a hug. "There you are, my dear boy. How have you been?"

Revan shook the admiral's hand. "Surviving."

"And making sure the enemy doesn't, I imagine. You know, I don't think we've talked face-to-face since Yavin Four. You've certainly kept my fleet busy in the best of ways." Karath took in a deep breath of sweet air. "It's been nearly three years to the day since we met, hasn't it? I still remember looking into your eyes and wondering just how much trouble you'd get me into. You showed up at just the right time, Revan. I'm serious when I say this."

"Why's that?" Revan asked.

"Because at that moment, when you walked into my quarters, I was a man with nothing to lose. If you had shown up a few days later, I would have just been a man who lost. The Republic was teetering on defeat. I kept telling my superiors back on Coruscant, we need Jedi to turn this around. Wasn't expecting a boy and a handful of teenagers to make any measurable change, but—"

"But look at us now."

"Yes, _but look at us now_. A handful of Jedi turned this war around, just like I said, and now we have more Jedi than we know what to do with. Hundreds, by my last count—Knights and Masters, all."

"They've seen the mistake that the Council has made first-handedly. All they needed was a little persuasion that the Jedi could do something. A little push. They'll be loyal to us until the war's end."

" _Damn_ the Council." Karath covered his mouth. He blinked away rage. "Forgive me, Revan."

"No apologies are necessary."

"It's just that when I see what you lot have done, and what we _could_ have done with the Jedi Council's full backing—" Another breath. "I see the faces of all of my boys and girls who died when they didn't have to. I see a galaxy where they could still be alive… but the Jedi destroyed all that."

Revan gripped the admiral by the arm. "Honor their memories by winning this battle, Admiral, and keeping your focus on the here and now."

Admiral Karath stood tall and straightened his uniform. He took in a few more calming breaths through his nose, and the hot moisture in his eyes began to fade away.

Once again, Revan felt admiration take hold of him as he regarded Karath. The man had lost so many under his command before the Jedi intervened that Revan couldn't understand how he could still yet stand. But he thought he had an idea, though it seemed far too romantic for him to seriously consider: Karath still stood because some of his soldiers still did.

Until the day the Republic fell, Revan knew Admiral Karath would stand with it.

"Well," the admiral began, his composure regained. "Tell me how we're to win this war, Revan."

"Hopefully in the same way we've won every other battle." Revan called for a holomap and a trooper rushed one over from the equipment stock. "We're looking at a complete convergence of the Mandalorian and Republic fleets, with the exception of a few of our ships protecting the blockade at Coruscant."

Meetra asked, "What makes you think they won't try and run the blockade instead of following us here?"

"Malachor Five is a sacred world to the Mandalorians. For us to even be in this system is a challenge of the highest kind—and Mandy doesn't turn away from a challenge." Revan activated the holomap and zoomed in to a ground-level view. "Once our two forces meet, our armies will have to be on the ground to prevent the enemy from setting up any anti-orbital weapons. I'll decide where to position everyone at a later time, once I've scouted the planet to my satisfaction."

"Scout the planet?" Karath asked, unsure. "What's our timeframe?"

"The Mandalorians won't attack until they're sure they've gathered their whole fleet and every soldier available. With most of their ships fanned out over half the galaxy, I'd confidently give us a standard month before they begin to drop in."

"A month?" Karath looked relieved. "Gives us enough time to do just about whatever we want. Arrange troop formations. Refit our ships. Maybe I can finally get Lieutenant Onasi to stop shadowing me and get some sleep."

"We should give all of our soldiers as much R and R as possible. The every man and woman of the Republic war effort will be quite literally fighting for their lives in a matter of weeks. Wouldn't want any fatigue on the lines or at the helms."

"Right." Karath said, gripping his hands behind his back. "Have you already delivered your orders to one of the officers?"

"Yes, I did. Acys." Revan looked over to Meetra. He loved the way a subtle grin would form on her face at the mention of the Twi'lek. "I don't have much in the way of strategy at the moment. After a thorough survey, I'll be ready to organize our troops and fleet accordingly."

Karath smiled. "Then we _can_ relax for now." He held out his hand again. "When you return, don't let the chain of command keep you from doing what you need to do— _Admiral_."

Revan's brow rose. "A promotion, eh?"

"I'd like to think you've earned it, and this comes straight from Supreme Chancellor Cressa. You will have full control of every resource the Republic has to offer in this system. You'll answer only to me, but even I won't stand in your way. I've seen the works you've created without someone looking over your shoulder." They shook hands. "End this war. I don't care how. I just want it done. The Republic can't afford to lose here. We have all our credits riding on this particular game of pazaak, if you know what I mean."

"I understand, Admiral," Revan said before turning away. "If worse comes to worse, I'll shoot dealer."

Admiral Karath laughed under his breath and disappeared into the crowd of saluting soldiers.

"Revan, wait up!" Malak pushed his way through the commotion, trying to catch up to his friend. Meetra was doing the same, though more successfully thanks to her slender frame. When they finally caught up to Revan, the Jedi was already on the seat of a swoop bike, supplies packed onto the back. "We're you just going to leave without saying _goodbye_?"

Revan smiled in a bewildered fashion. "What? I'm not leaving forever. I'll be back."

"Don't you want some help scouting?" Meetra asked. "You have a lot of planet to scout."

"Better with three sets of eyes than one," Malak added. "We could get this done a lot sooner."

"Thank you," Revan said with a nod, "but that won't be necessary. I need you both to be here in my stead, or nothing will get done."

"What if you run into resistance while you're out there?" Malak waved the handgrip of his lightsaber around. "There are probably still plenty of Mandalorian colonists left on this planet that we might have missed."

"A lot of things could go wrong. The Mandalorian fleet could show up tomorrow." Revan shuddered at the mere hypothetical thought of it. "Look, just hold down the fort for me. I won't be long, but I need to see this planet firsthand if I'm going to lead this battle."

He started up his swoop bike and let it idle. His friends still looked severely discontent.

"I'll be back," Revan promised. "I will."

* * *

This is the twilight of Revan Versirath's life:

He looks down at his swoop bike indifferently and pumps the throttle a few times. He has a long road ahead of him, and a great many things to see.

His friends look on, disturbed. Both know that there is no being on this planet, or in the galaxy for that matter, that could possibly threaten Revan's life. But the Force tells them differently. It rings in their spirit as a steady tune, falling in pitch with every passing second—a beautiful melody that is all but at an end—and the two friends have no idea why.

They know what they feel, so Malak and Meetra say all they can to keep Revan from going on his journey, but it falls on deaf ears.

Revan simply smiles, exuding the radiant aura of confidence and knowing that has been his fingerprint through the trio's entire friendship. Nothing, not the death caused by their hands, not the innocents lost by hesitation, nor the friends they've lost on their warpath, has managed to place even the smallest dent in the young Jedi Knight's resolve.

And it is in that simplest sense, Malak and Meetra are relieved.

A moment of reflection passes between them. The expanse of their friendship unfolds before their eyes:

The day Revan met Malak when he first arrived at the Dantooine Enclave. Revan had been scared. He had been sad. He felt alone in a galaxy that had done so much damage to his life already. Malak saw this, and was quick to make introductions. Revan remembers every negative feeling within his very spirit fall silent in the presence of a friendship that burned brighter than a supernova. He remembers being freed.

The night when Revan and Malak first spoke to a young Meetra, and how their lives seemed to interconnect like three pieces of one puzzle.

Their quest to complete their lightsabers. The tension. The anticipation. The fear and a resolution of the best kind.

All of these moments present themselves within their minds, and are gone just as soon as they arrive.

"You be careful out there, Brother," Malak says to Revan.

"Don't get lost out there," Meetra adds, casually wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

Revan grins and shakes his head. "I'll be back," he says again—for the last time.

He turns his attention to his swoop, clicks the thrust into the first gear, and disappears into the setting sun.

The Jedi's friends stand in the void he has left in his absence. The lamps of makeshift camps flicker on beneath the descending darkness, defining the valley with a glittering incandescence that seems to reflect the starry night that appears above their heads.

The night is cold. It is silent. And here, in the full darkness of a world wholly untainted, the two Jedi stand alone for the first time in many, many years, their lives drifting uncontrollably.

They cling to their dimming memories for warmth, but it is a transient comfort that will not outlast the night. They realize they will have to find their own way, and find a substitute for the fire that had burned so fiercely in their friend, Revan, for so very long.

Everything gets much colder on Malachor V for Malak and Meetra, and they part ways without a word to find their place in the greater workings: a place that they won't find for a long time.

This is the twilight of Revan Versirath's life.

His friends longingly watched him disappear into the dark—and, in the greater sense of things, he never returned.


	20. Into the Darkened Deeps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There is a place in the galaxy where the dark side of the Force runs strong. It is something of the Sith, but it was fueled by war. It corrupts all that walks on its surface—drowns them in the power of the dark side. It corrupts all life, and it feeds on death."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)
> 
> _"It was always here, far before the Mandalorian Wars. It draws death and hate to it, channels it. Atrocities feed its power, and with its power, it creates hunger. Many Jedi have been consumed by it... This place drew Lord Revan, and led him to the graveyards of Korriban... and beyond."_
> 
> -Darth Sion, Lord of Pain (3,951 BBY)

It had been a day since Revan had gone, and the strategic situation on Malachor V was well off enough for Meetra to confidently return to the _Duskwind_. She could hear R and R calling her name, and she fully intended to answer its sweet beckoning song.

The mood on the ship was much more docile than she ever remembered. Since the day she first arrived with a military rank bestowed upon her, the men and women who crewed the capital ship couldn't move anywhere without a palpable sense of urgency; they hardly ate or slept or did much of anything enjoyable. But now, there was no rush for anything. Soldiers crowded the halls, sharing war stories, anecdotes, and letters from home.

Most of all, there were smiles. Meetra was stunned by each smile she saw, and there were many. Through the Force, she could see only joy and flowering contentment. Victory was on the mind of each crewmember and soldier, and Meetra wondered if these people even knew what a victory in the coming battle could mean, what it could cost.

But there was no ignorance here. This ship had not been commandeered by the blind; they all knew that their fate was fast approaching. They just could not be bothered to care. This was their moment. Their _perfect_ moment, because after the clash that would soon take place on and around the world of Malachor V, their job would be done. The galaxy would either burn by their failure, or thrive by their victory. Either way, it would all be at an end.

And they celebrated its approach.

She smelled the subtle, sweet and sour stench of ixetal cilona fuming from one of the adjoining cabins: _death sticks_. Maybe someone was celebrating a little too much.

At the starboard corridor, Meetra took a rarely-used stairwell down to the lower decks. Following the halogen-lit corridor, she passed the brig and the supply chambers before she ended up at the secondary cargo hold. It was an unusually-lit affair, as well. While the main cargo hold was used for essential supplies for the ship's predetermined mission, the secondary hold was set aside for anything picked up during the course of the journey. Spoils of war.

The place hadn't been used in years—at least, not in that way. In recent months, upon Meetra's request, the secondary cargo hold had been converted into what she had deemed: a _Research and Development_ lab. The Republic had been fighting a new kind of enemy, who readily used conventions and tactics that hadn't seen the light in galactic warfare for centuries. Simply, a new kind of enemy required a new way to fight.

The contraptions and tactics cranked out by the Research and Development lab had been crucial in breaking through and getting inside the head of a Mandalorian soldier, so that the enemy no longer had the high ground in battle. And on this day, the lab was dark, with only a single lamp on, which illuminated a desk covered with flimsiplast sheets of diagrams and calculations.

Meetra walked inside without pause and made for the light controls.

"General, _no_!" a familiar voice cried out from somewhere in the dark. "No light for now. Give me another minute."

Meetra rocked her head, and her eyes darted to a dark blot in the room. "Bao-Dur, what are you doing?" She heard a few mechanical clicks before his voice began again.

"Something of... _importance_. Working with material that's very sensitive to light. A few more seconds and I'll have it locked in."

"Locked in to what?"

"That's the important part." Bao-Dur's voice sounded strained and heavy with exhaustion. One more click, and the Zabrak exhaled. "There we are."

"You finished?" Meetra asked with an impatient sigh.

The dark blob stood straight and moved through the darkness. "Yes, General. Toggle the lights."

Without hesitation, Meetra tapped the button, and the retrofitted cargo hold was doused in a bright light. The walls of gray durasteel were lined with shelves of half-finished devices, and each bare spot on the walls were covered with more flimsi schematics for weaponry and tactics. The floors were shiny with grease and cluttered with tools and spare parts.

The place was mess, pure and simple. But off on the far end of the lab, Bao-Dur stood wearing a thick hazard suit and a detached expression across his face. In his hand was a hydrospanner, and in the other was a protective mask he had been wearing.

Meetra almost didn't want to know what he had been working on. _Almost_. "So?" she asked, awaiting an explanation.

Bao-Dur nodded. "Wasn't expecting visitors, General. Sorry I didn't tidy up."

"That's not what I meant." She angled a thumb to the light controls. "What were you just working on?"

"Well…" Bao-Dur rubbed his chin, as if he couldn't find the words.

"What? Did you forget?"

"No, no. It's... nothing like that. I just haven't gotten around to naming it, yet. It's a sort of ritual for me, see?"

"I don't care about the _name_ , Bao-Dur." Meetra walked up to meet the Zabrak. "What's the matter with you? You have the look of a man who just killed someone with that hydrospanner."

Bao-Dur smiled, just a little. "You have no idea, General."

Meetra ran a hand through her hair. She had never seen Bao-Dur, her only friend outside of Revan and Malak, act this way before. He wasn't excited to see her, as per his usual reaction, and she didn't like it.

"Let me see this thing." She stormed past the Zabrak, his eyes still locked on something in the distance that wasn't there. At the nearest desk, covered in a containment field, were five black devices. They were flat and each about a meter across with a tiny activation pad in their centers. From an initial glance, they looked like large, black gears.

"What are these?" she asked, this time placing a hand on Bao-Dur's shoulder. He tensed up. "What's wrong?"

Finally, Bao-Dur took in a deep breath, composing himself. When he exhaled, it came out stuttered. "It happened so casually," he said. He could have been talking to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing like this should be born of such casual conversation. _Nothing_. It should be created from flame and desperation and blood. It should be created by four-legged beasts with only one leg to stand on—as a last effort that will keep them breathing. But not from us," he said. "Not from us."

Meetra kept a hand on the Zabrak's shoulder, and moved her free hand across one of the black gears. It practically shocked her hand through the Force. "Tell me what these are, Bao-Dur."

"General," he said flatly. "I had an idea to change the galaxy, but it became a weapon that will destroy a part of it. Revan asked me to do this... I know it's wrong... I _know_ it is... but I can't bring myself to think _he's_ wrong. These _will_ end the war—and save so many more lives than they'll take when we use them."

Meetra moved around to face Bao-Dur and held his hands gently. She looked into his eyes until he reluctantly made contact with hers. "What have you done here?"

Bao-Dur grimaced. A tear fell from his eye. "I have become death, General," he said. "Destroyer of worlds. Bringer of shadows…"

* * *

Under a blanket of twilight, Revan made a bed for himself among the tall grass of a forest meadow. He had powered down his swoop's repulsors so that everything he had with him would be safely hidden. Although he knew that every Mandalorian on the planet was either in hiding or captivity, he didn't want to take any chances. Nothing could compromise his mission when so much was riding on it.

He placed his hands behind his head and watched the stars through the forest canopy. A few of the dim stars that hung above him began to shift around, move into rows and take on a formation. His fleet above. His guiding stars.

For thousands upon thousands of years, the various beings that populate the galaxy have looked up to the stars as a map to their lands, their seas, their lives. Revan looked upon them now and watched the glittering starships shift into various shapes, and they looked to him like a constellation he should live his life by, like they truly held his life in plot.

A crisp breeze moved through his meadow just then, and the soothing sounds of the rustling grass and the cool kiss of the nightly air sent him drifting off to sleep. To dream.

That dream intensified and took shape around his mind's eye.

He was standing in an endless field of grass that stretched out into the horizon and very nearly swallowed up the setting sun just above it. The wind wrapped him in a shell of warmth and sent his hair fluttering off to the side of his face. He pushed his bangs out of his eyes and found a young woman standing as a shadow against the sun. She stood as if she belonged there by right of nature—calm, collected, and enlightened by all that surrounded her.

The sense of peace that radiated off of her soaked deeply into Revan's form and down into his spirit, which seemed filthy in comparison to what he saw in front of him. He moved toward the woman, weaving a trail through the field. When he met her at the top of a hill, she didn't turn to look at him, just continued to watch the sunset turn the skies blood red.

Revan placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. Her head turned, and her eyes burned with hope.

She mouthed something. Revan couldn't understand what she had said until the wind carried the voice into his ears: _Come with me_ —

And she held out a helping hand to him.

Bastila's face took shape on the woman's form. She looked as heartbroken and defeated as he had the night Revan had left her on Dantooine all those long months ago, but she breathed of patience now, holding out her hand as if she could wait forever.

Revan looked at the hand, then back into Bastila's eyes. He would be safe with her, as long as he let her help, and he knew this for certain. His hand reached out hesitantly, and got close enough to her own that he could feel the warmth of her skin. He wasn't sure where she would take him, but he wanted to find out.

But then, a cold chill descended upon his world, and the green fields around him were swallowed up by fierce shadows that chased the light right back into the setting sun.

Something began to pull him away. It tugged at his body and threatened to drag him forcibly back through the fields. Into darkness.

Bastila's helping hand stayed motionless. Her eyes didn't break from his.

A black mist swept Revan up into the air, whipped him around and whispered words into his ear that sounded familiar. They _were_ familiar! It was the same call that he had answered back on Dantooine. It was the same voice that led him to the ruins there. They were the same words that promised power and the truth of his destiny—and they were calling him away again.

_Brave the darkest shadows, and you shall know true light._

Revan followed the voice and let the black mist spirit him away. He turned back to the fading world behind him. Bastila was lost on the horizon.

Back in the Malachorian forest, Revan awoke to the voice within his mind—and it was louder than ever.

As soon as his swoop's repulsors were charged again, he set back out into the night. The stars and the rising moon provided all the light he needed to navigate, and soon the forest was far behind him. He chased the voice in his mind like a starving man would chase wild game: as if his life depended on it.

He crossed streams and rivers and circumvented a large lake until his swoop led him through a sheer ravine. It took all of his focus to keep from slamming into the rock walls on either side of him at the rate he was speeding along.

Then, the ravine began to split. Revan followed the call down each divided path he came to and, as far as he could tell, he never took a wrong turn.

Above him, the ravine closed up. He refused to dig around in his bag for a source of light; it would take too much time. Instead, he embraced the Force and used it to guide his hand in riding the swoop deeper and deeper into the tunnel. The walls began to close in on him now, but he rode on, even as the rock walls scraped his legs from both sides.

Only when he could absolutely go no further, Revan stopped the swoop bike and threw himself forward into the tunnel. With all of his available strength, he kicked his way down the tunnel, using nothing but the Force and his ignited lightsaber to guide his way.

Revan could only fathom what could be at the source of the voice that had called to him for so long. _What could it possibly be?_ he wondered. _What could it possibly be?_

As if to answer his query, the tunnel opened up suddenly into a wide cavern, lighted with massive clusters of green phosphorescent crystals overhead that shined brightly enough to persuade Revan to switch off his weapon. He walked across the cavern floor, and now that his heart and his mind had calmed down, the full weight of the silence around him took hold—

And the structure before him, sweeping out from the very living rock that made up the cave, sat in wait.

Revan approached the structure and the long, arcing bridge that preluded it. He took each step hesitantly—a first for his entire journey. He didn't want to take any chances that the Mandalorians might have left some traps behind; _if_ indeed this place was one of their temples.

But every time he tried to believe this, the voice in his head wouldn't let him, and it scolded him for thinking such a thing.

_As if the Mandalorians could comprehend such power!_

And there _was_ power in this place, imbued into every stone that shaped it. When Revan finally let his guard down, a powerful feeling swept through him, and brought him across the last few steps: into the mouth of the beckoning structure.

* * *

Revan wandered the interior of this underground sanctuary for hours. This place was fuming with the dark side of the Force, and his every instinct was screaming at him to about-face and leave it behind... but he couldn't. There was something about the scale of it all, and how it still rang in his mind, that left him wondering about its purpose.

There were rooms lined with books and decayed holocrons. There were wide and towering hallways so open that he couldn't even hear the echo of his footsteps return to him. Computer consoles sat dead without power. And there were piles of ashen dust at random instance, corpses that must have been thousands of years old.

He walked the hallways and scanned the rooms until he found a staircase that spiraled away deeper into the earth. Without losing pace, he descended, and with each step he could feel something growing inside of his chest. It tugged at his heartstrings and sharpened his senses.

Revan felt more alive now than he had ever been.

One more flight of stairs brought him to a large set of heavy crimson doors. The voice was no longer in his head, it was in his ears, and it sounded muffled as if it was on the other side of these doors.

With lightsaber in hand, he used the Force to push open the crimson doorway—it was more difficult than it should have been—and he entered into the chamber.

The voice went quiet.

The room looked like a coliseum, with row upon row of tiered, stone platforms encircled around a stage at its center. Beneath the stage, stone claws thrice his height reached up around it; and below that, there was nothing—an abyss of dark green nothing that looked to go on for kilometer after endless kilometer.

This didn't scare him. He wasn't afraid, even though he had to continually tell himself this. He wasn't afraid.

Revan crossed one of the three stone bridges that connected the outer platforms to the clawed center stage. He stood in the middle of the chamber, waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

"Hello?" he called out, hoping the voice would reply. "I've heard your call, and I followed it well." He still had no idea what he'd be speaking to. "I followed it to the ruins on Dantooine. I followed it into a war against the Mandalorians: across Manaan, Kashyyyk and Tatooine—and now here. The Republic wouldn't have made it this far without all that you've left behind, but I must know who you are.

"I must know who left the maps for us to find."

_YOU MUST KNOW A GREAT MANY THINGS!_

Revan collapsed to his knees and pressed his palms into his ears. The voice was so loud now; it felt like it would burst right through his eardrums.

"What is this!" Revan screamed.

_THIS IS THE DAWN OF A NEW AGE! AN AGE THAT YOU HAVE HELPED TO USHER IN!_

_This is where the unraveling of the galaxy will begin: the first step on a road that will darken into a burning path of destruction!_

_THIS IS WHERE YOU GIVE IN TO THE HATE THAT HAS BEEN BUILDING WITHIN YOU FOR YEARS!_

_This is when the first among many stars will be snuffed out by your hand—when the skies over every world in the galaxy will darken for an eternity._

"Stop this!" Revan pleaded to the voice that had split into many. "Stop this, please!"

He could feel a presence in his mind, a burning presence that threatened to rip his brain apart. He felt as if, at any moment, his skull would split open and fire would erupt from it.

_This is your destiny, Revan Versirath…_

_This is what your whole life has been leading up to...  
_

_This is—_

_Where—_

_You—_

_FALL!_

A bright red light illuminated the ring that surrounded the center stage Revan reeled upon. Despite the pain that enveloped his mind, he was still yet able to comprehend the horrors that surrounded him:

Upon each tiered platform, spaced no more than a few centimeters apart—hundreds of Sith holocrons.

 _What have I done?_ was the only thought Revan was able to conjure.

As the holocrons began to glow with dark energy, Revan drew upon the last bit of his adrenaline to sprint back toward the crimson doors. Just as he reached his bridge, it fell away into the dark, leaving the stage hovering in midair. He didn't let this stop him: he threw himself over the edge, using every bit of sway he had left over the Force to propel him over the chasm of endless nothing.

But it wasn't enough. The dark energies in the room weighed him down. He fell just short, managing to grip the edge of the outer ring before he fell.

Holding on for his life, Revan's mind fell back to the image of Bastila on the world so green and alive. It was at that moment, he experienced the faintest hint of regret—an emotion he hadn't felt in a long time.

He wished he had taken her hand...

The crimson doors slammed closed only a centimeter away from his fingers. Then, a powerful push through the Force sent Revan's body hurdling back toward the stage, where the holocrons began to go about their work.

Every memory, every thought, every emotion was scrutinized and ripped from Revan's mind: a court of the spirit drawing their evidence before a victim. They were not manipulating him. They were not tricking him. They were not controlling him.

The dark side energies within the holocrons were merely _showing_ Revan their universe using his eyes, his memories.

But it was never meant to be pleasant.

Revan howled in pain as his body and spirit were mangled by the dark energies around him. His body was elevated into the air, hovering over the center stage: the main attraction the spirits around him had been waiting a millennia to see.

The anger, the pain, the hate within Revan's body flowed freely and extended out from his body, and the Force was ignited at his fingertips, sending out waves of arcing, purple lightning in all directions.

The solid ground around him quaked under the power he was unleashing. Below, a panel on the clawed stage slid open slowly, revealing a suit of crimson Sith armor that sat quietly, waiting for its new master to descend.

And within the forgotten Sith sanctuary, buried deep within the sacred grounds of Malachor V, Revan's cries of pain faded away into cackling laughter, and then—

Silence.

_and in the light, you shall betray us…_

_…light, you shall betray us…_

_…shall betray us…_

_…betray us…_

_…trayus…_


	21. The Shepherd's Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The dark side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be... unnatural."_
> 
> -Supreme Chancellor Palpatine (19 BBY)
> 
> _"Jedi create light, but the Sith do not create darkness. They merely use the darkness that is always there."_
> 
> -Master Mace Windu (19 BBY)

A squadron of X-winged CH-14 skyhoppers cut through the skies above Malachor V. After streaking past a set of snow-capped mountaintops, they dove down into yet another valley. With targeting sensors drawing power from all secondary systems, they were hoping they could get an accurate lock on any warm-bodies below without having to resort to a manual scan.

That was the last thing any of the pilots of the squadron wanted: being ordered to press their faces up against their transparisteel canopies and scan each valley with their own eyes. They'd never say it out loud, but each pilot was thinking the same thing.

_Skyhoppers weren't meant for search and rescue missions._

And they weren't, but unfortunately for the CH-14 pilots, every ship capable of flight had been scrambled for the search. Even the _Duskwind_ herself was hovering low over the planet, practically moving along meter-by-meter across the sky. Admiral Karath had made the mission absolutely clear: every square centimeter of the planet must be scanned both on foot and by air.

Admiral Revan must be found.

From what little intel the pilots had received, the Jedi Knight had gone on a scouting mission that was only supposed to last a few days—and it had been a week and a half since then. There were no restrictions on the search area. There was no greater priority to the war effort than to find Revan.

But it didn't feel that way to some of the pilots.

"Anyone find him yet?" Jaq Rand muttered through his headset. No one in the squadron bothered to reply; they had gotten tired of the familiar question over the passing hours of the search. "Anyone find him yet?"

" _Hey, I got something on my scanner_!" a squadmate replied over the receiver.

"Really?"

" _No!_ "

"Really?" Jaq sighed. "That's how it's gonna be?"

" _We never found anything the last thousand times you asked. So why would you think that had changed in the three seconds prior_?"

"Sheesh." Jaq laughed and straightened his trajectory. "Someone's getting cranky over there."

" _I'm not cranky. I'm just tired of hearing anything that's not, 'We found him.'"_

"You found him?" Jak asked, playfully. The channel went dead. "Someone get on the comm and inform command that Orden turned off his receiver. I want him reprimanded and shot into space."

Kenta's voice croaked over the receiver. " _Aw, give the guy a break, Rand. Some people weren't built for twelve-hour rotations in a cockpit like you were._ "

"You're supposed to be ready for anything when you drop your name into that particular hat," Jaq said flatly. " _Anything_. Do you all hear me? Whether it's chasing an enemy scout across two star systems, scanning a planet for twelve hours straight, or listening to my poor attempts at humor. If you're in the cockpit, you gotta deal until the mission's completed."

_"Even if the mission is FUBAR, sir?"_

" _Especially_ if the mission is FUBAR. Those are the only kind of missions that really count, you bunch of spineless space jellies."

 _"Coming up on the end of the valley,"_ Kenta said.

"All right, you all know the drill," Jaq sighed. "Thrust up, thrust down, look-it, and pray."

Jaq increased his thrust output and pulled back on the stick. His skyhopper pitched upward and sailed over the approaching rock wall of the valley. He looked to his radar. Every time they finished a valley, he had the strangest feeling that one of his wingmen would forget to pull up. They were all nearing exhaustion, himself included. He knew mistakes were likely to happen now more than ever.

"Okay, I got another valley picked out for us. Make for heading two-two-four and enter on the nearest end."

_"Roger."_

_"Roger."_

_"Roger."_

The skyhoppers shifted their flight-path toward their next valley and swooped down into it. Jaq pulled off a aileron roll as he descended, just to change things up.

"Woah, now," Jaq blurted as they entered. "Anyone notice something... _off_ about this valley?"

 _"Yeah, you said it,"_ Kenta replied, awe in his voice. _"Everything's just... dead._ "

After nearly twelve hours crisscrossing over Malachor V's airspace, he had seen zigzagged valleys of every shape and size. They had been brimming with trees, covered in thick vegetation or fields, or simply submerged underwater—but _never_ dead. From what he could see, there was nothing but dust and blackened decay.

"Who wants to place a little bet that the admiral's down there somewhere?" Jaq punched in a few commands on his onboard console to divert more power to the scanners. He was feeling lucky. "Everyone drop in a bit closer. I need one eye on your radar and one eye outside." A few groans escaped his headset. "Come on, if we find him, we can go home and you don't have to hear anymore of my Twi'lek jokes. Understood?"

 _"Yes, sir,"_ the pilots replied, sans any form of enthusiasm.

The squadron flew low on the deck, kicking up torrents of black dust in their wake. Jaq's eyes darted around from each side of his cockpit, nearly pressing his face up against the canopy, as he had been begrudgingly trying to avoid earlier. Kilometer after kilometer passed, and he saw nothing but dirt and scorched tangles of things that looked like they might have been trees at one point in time.

 _"I got nothing over here, sir,"_ one of the pilots said.

 _"Same here,"_ Kenta sighed. _"A whole valley's worth of nothing."_

Jaq hesitantly admitted the same. "Damn it all." His radar blipped, but just for a moment. "Hey, hey, I got something here, guys."

_"Are you joking?"_

"On my honor, I found something." He was met with silence. "Okay, on Kenta's honor. I swear! We're circling back. Everyone match my heading and do a deep scan of quadrant eight-two-eight-seven."

_"Could have just been a bear, Rand. Lots of the other squadrons are saying the same thing over the comm. A bunch of fuss over human-sized animals."_

"That wasn't a bear." Jaq pulled back on the stick. "Follow me or you're disobeying a direct order. Do as you like, scrubs." His skyhopper ascended into a wide backflip before spinning back up level. He pushed in as low to the ground as he could manage. "Come on. Come on. I know I saw you," he whispered. "I know I did."

The section he had detected the anomaly in passed him by. He saw nothing and his radar didn't so much as beep. Jaq sighed loudly. He was beginning to think exhaustion was settling in a little too intensely. He wanted so badly to see his radar come up positive, maybe his brain was making it a reality.

Jaq's cockpit filled up with a loud klaxon. It wasn't his mind this time. He was sure of it... but now he wished it was. The alarm was signaling a massive systems failure.

"Damn!" His hands instinctually went about trying to reroute power and reboot primary systems. "Guys, my cockpit's dying on me! I'm losing power!"

 _"What can we do, Jaq? How can we help?"_ Kenta asked, quickly. _"Do you have to eject?"_

Jaq pressed a few more buttons on the console... just before everything shut down: lights, monitors and all. His skyhopper's engines cut out and its nose began to dip toward the ground. "No!" He gripped the joystick and pulled back hard, but it was locked up. Nothing could stop him from crashing now.

"Guess it's that time again." Jaq reached down, found the eject lever and pulled it. He crossed his arms and braced for an ejection that didn't come. He looked down frantically. The eject lever hadn't worked. He pulled on it again and again. Nothing.

He cursed loudly.

 _So this is it?_ he thought. _This is how it ends?_

Jaq stared out through the canopy, prepared to face his impending death head-on. His teeth gritted. His heart beat wildly in his chest. And he was scared: he didn't know what was about to happen.

_And I never even got a chance to call on that girl from Coruscant…_

The ground got closer and closer, and then... everything slowed down. The dirt was still coming at him, but slower. Then, only a meter away from impact, his skyhopper stopped in midair, hovering over the ground as if his repulsors had started up again.

He took a deep breath and pinched himself. He was still alive, or so he thought. Before he could question his existence any further, the skyhopper leveled itself out and came to rest in the blackened earth.

Jaq sat there, motionless, trying to figure out what had just happened. His hands thoughtlessly went through the standard motions of powering up the starfighter, but everything was still dead. He couldn't even get the canopy of his cockpit open, but, thankfully, it was the one part of the ship that would still work manually.

He pulled the latches on four parts of the canopy and yanked the safety that released the pressure cylinder. With one quick shove, the dome of transparisteel popped off of the vessel and tumbled onto the ground below.

Jaq didn't get out immediately. Instead, he relaxed in his seat and let the stale valley air cool the sweat that drenched his face. The rest of the squadron passed over head, and one of them rocked its wings quickly to indicate that at least one of them was coming in for a landing.

He gave a thumbs-up to the sky.

When he looked back down, there was a man standing before the nose of the starfighter. Jaq's hand flew toward the blaster at his side, but took a deep breath when he realized who it was. He sat back, relieved. _A_ _lmost_.

"You scared the Corellian out of me," Jaq said, holstering his blaster. "Admiral Revan?"

The man, clothed in a black robe, with raven hair that fell around his shoulders, stood with a bundle of crimson red garb under his arm—his expression vacant, as if the name Jaq used had meant nothing to him.

"Hello?" Jaq clicked out of his restraints so he could wave his arms more effectively. "Helloooooo?" He suddenly remembered what kind of powers Jedi could have. He pointed to his skyhopper. "Did you just yank me out of the sky?" he asked, incredulously.

The man finally looked up, bringing his face fully into the light of day. He looked pale, _very_ pale. Like he hadn't been outside in months. "You were looking for me." It wasn't a question.

Jaq nodded patently. "Yeah, we've been looking all over for you. The whole damn fleet's out sweeping the whole damn planet trying to track you down. You've been gone awhile."

"How long?" the black-cloaked man asked.

"It's been ten days since you left."

The man nodded. "Time enough."

Jaq winced. He thought that maybe he had a medical emergency on his hands by the way the man talked. Maybe he'd been without food or shelter too long. The way he looked, it was hard for Jaq to believe the man was still standing.

"One of the other pilots should be landing soon, and then we can send out for a pickup." Jaq grinned wearily. "Command's gonna be happy to see you back, Admiral Revan. They've been standing up on their toes waiting for you to return."

The man looked confused. "Revan…" he muttered, over and over under his breath. A smile broke across his face. "They might be waiting a very long time…"

The lights in the cockpit of the skyhopper suddenly clicked on, and the ship came to life once again.

* * *

Meetra stepped onto the lower deck of the _Duskwind_ and sprinted down the corridor. When she reached the door to the Research and Development lab, Bao-Dur was standing outside, nervously wringing his hands.

"What's he doing in there?" Meetra asked the Zabrak.

Bao-Dur shook his head. "I don't have a clue, General." He whipped a finger to the door. "I was putting some finishing touches on an upgraded weapon for a friend of mine and he just... _burst_ in the door rolling a crate of supplies behind him. He told me to get out... so... I _did_. I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but it's been over a day now and I have a mountain of work to finish before Mandy shows up."

Malak appeared from a nearby hallway. He came to a stuttered stop, as if he had been sprinting to get here, as well. "Is Revan all right?"

"He's fine," Meetra said, although it was difficult to say. "Goes missing for ten days, shows up again and hardly says a word to us for days more. Now _this_."

"He's been all over the ship," Malak added. "Karath said Revan downloaded the fleet's entire crew manifest onto a datapad before he disappeared into his quarters. I didn't know he had left since then."

Meetra rolled her eyes. "Apparently, he's been here."

Bao-Dur held up a hand to interject. "Excuse me, with all due respect, what happened to Admiral Revan when he was out there?"

"Nothing," Malak replied with a shrug. "As far as I can tell, at least."

Meetra rubbed her forehead. "He hasn't talked much about it."

"Not to us, maybe," Malak corrected. "But Karath talks like the two of them have a sit-down every hour." He sighed. "And I'd believe it, too. The admiral's been walking around looking as sullen as Revan did when he came on board. Like they're both smoking from the same death stick."

Meetra walked over and tried to open the door with its keypad. It buzzed a harsh rejection at her code.

"Already tried that," Bao-Dur muttered, frustration mounting every second he couldn't get into his own lab. "He's locked it from the inside. No one short of his clearance level can enter."

"Well," Meetra began, frustrated as well, "let's get Admiral Karath down here to open it up."

Malak stepped up to the door. "I've got a better idea." His arm extended outward, his face strained, and the door groaned open by a call to the Force. "There we are." He led the way into the lab with Meetra close behind. Bao-Dur made a move to follow, but Meetra held up a hand to keep him outside for the moment. The Zabrak begrudgingly abided.

Near the back of the lab, Revan was huddled over a long workbench, tinkering at something that made metallic clangs and electronic whirrs every few seconds. He reached out his hand and a hydrospanner from the other end of the bench snapped into his grasp, and he went back to work—either not caring or not aware of the two Jedi that approached him.

"Revan?" Malak asked. Revan didn't acknowledge the voice in any way. "Revan we need to talk."

"Yes," Revan hissed. "Yes, we have to talk about a great many things." He turned to face the Jedi and leaned up against the bench casually. "But now is not that time."

Meetra gripped her hands together. "Revan, we have to talk about what happened to you out there. You've been acting... _strange_ since you returned."

"Strange?" Revan laughed. "An odd word to describe _all_ that has happened. But, I admit to you, my friends, that I haven't been very forward about the current state of things. You have my sincerest apologies and the knowledge that I will be able to tell you everything when the time comes."

"What do you mean?" Malak asked, offended. "Why can't you tell us now?"

"Ha! Now _that_ I can tell you, Brother." Revan playfully hopped backward to sit on the workbench. "You see, decisions are a strange thing. The longer they take to come to an end, the less sincere they are. The Jedi Order had much too much time to come to a decision about the Mandalorian Wars, and look where that's gotten them. Nowhere. They've been left behind on the warpath and will soon be picked off by the wolves looking for a helpless meal.

"But, see, their folly wasn't in making the _wrong_ decision. It was making an uninformed one. They didn't rely on their instincts. They let their fallible set of rules and guidelines make the decision for them. They didn't make the honest decision: the one they knew— _know—_ to be the right one. They didn't act like rational, thinking beings. They acted like droids—and droids cannot win a war of the spirit."

Revan held up his hands, signaling his audience to _wait just one moment_ , and he slid aside to reveal his creation-in-progress. "Maybe droids can't win the war, but this one can win the battle, I think."

It was only half a droid: a chassis of dark orange durasteel with a head that had been shaped to look like a fierce jungle cat before the pounce. It sat in pieces, unmoving on the workbench, but it still looked dangerous.

"What is this thing?" Meetra asked, disturbed and intrigued by what she saw.

Revan shrugged. "Let's make introductions." His hand reached to the droid's back and locked in a power cell that had been hanging loose. There was a rising hum from within the droid as it powered up, and its eyes began to glow red with activity. Then, the humming stopped, its red eyes lit solidly, the loose arms at its side retracted up, and its head snapped in the direction of the two Jedi.

The droid's voice seemed oddly human. "Introduction: Aitch-Kay Forty-Seven, ready and reporting for duty, master."

Meetra stopped herself from questioning the droid. _HK-47_?

Revan put a hand on the droid's shoulder, and seemed to watch with delight as his two friends grew more bewildered by the second. "Aitch-Kay, tell my friends here what you are."

"Introduction: Why, I am merely an autonomous protocol droid commissioned for the crew of the Republic capital ship, _Duskwind..._ or so I would say to anyone other than yourself, master."

"No, it's okay. Give them the whole thing."

"Very well. I am an assassination droid, built for the sole function of obliterating, vaporizing, or otherwise beating a living organism into non-existence." HK seemed to cough. "I should have you all know that I was programmed to relay the previously-stated introduction with an undertone of solemnity, an emotion that has not been added to my overrides. Excitement is all I can manage at the moment, I'm afraid."

"An assassin droid?" Malak asked. "For what purpose?"

"Statement: I should think my primary function has been confidently established already. But if you'd like a demonstration—"

"No," Malak cut off the droid and regarded Revan. "What use could you have for an assassin droid? The war's nearly over."

Revan stared into Malak's eyes coldly. "There will always be room for him in our particular galaxy, Brother."

HK turned to Revan. "Observation: Your mood has suddenly dropped, master. Would the obliteration—slash—vaporization—slash—beating of this individual please you?"

Malak's fist clenched. His eyes burned in the droid's direction. "You're not even fully operational, _droid_. Your legs are on the other end of the room."

The droid's head dropped into a sneer. "Clarification: Although legs would be a vast improvement to my current situation, I can wholeheartedly assure you that, even from where I'm sitting, I calculate there are two-hundred and forty-two _different_ ways to kill you. If you don't believe me, the demonstration I offered is still... on the table... so to speak."

Malak turned to Meetra, who had a restrained smile upon her face. Seeing she would be no help, he turned back to Revan. "Did you program him to be like that?"

Revan shook his head. "I just gave him the tools to learn as he pleases. Apparently, he's acquired a good sense of humor since I first activated him."

" _That's_ a sense of humor?"

HK nodded. "Assurance: Oh, yes, I have a grand sense of humor. Of course, I'd never harm any of my master's companions without reason.

"Clarification: But one word from my master and the two-hundred and forty-three ways to down you would come into play. And believe me when I say that the only hesitation on my part would be picking one from the list."

Malak looked to be at a loss. "I thought... you said two-hundred and forty- _two_?"

"You've taken a step forward since my last calculation," HK snapped. "It's a shame, really. Judging by your _meatbag_ make-up, I would only be able to employ one technique from my... _happy list_ before you suffered critical internal failure. Disappointing, if I do say so myself."

Meetra watched Malak's hand edge toward his lightsaber.

"That's enough," Malak huffed. "Pull the plug, I'm done with introductions."

Revan complied with a smile, pulling the power cell back out. The assassin droid groaned the word "Meatbag" as it powered down.

Malak got up close to Revan, close enough that they were exchanging breaths. "I'm done. When you want to talk, you know where to find me. But remember this: you never had a problem telling me anything before, _B_ _rother_." He nearly spat the word. "Do what you like." He turned and stormed out of the lab.

Meetra was about to do the same when Revan called after her.

"Wait," he said.

The girl sighed. "What is it? If you're not going to let us help, what could you possibly want?"

Revan stood. There was no regret in his expression. He knew what he was doing. "I know it may be difficult, but this is for your own good."

"How can it possibly?" she asked.

"When the time comes, and the decision comes with it, you will have to make a choice—I need your heart behind it, not your mind. Please, understand this."

Meetra stepped back. "Whatever," she said. "When the time comes."

As she walked away, leaving Revan behind, she thought she heard his voice whisper a response to her.

"It won't be long…"

* * *

Admiral Karath stood on the bridge of the _Leviathan_ , taking in the sight of Malachor V from the main viewport as he sipped at a steaming cup of ahn tea. His eyes shifted from the planet below to the stars surrounding his ship, waiting for something to happen.

He took another sip. Each one tasted better than the last. Then again, it must always seem that way to a dead man.

But he did what he could, and gave his full trust to the young Jedi Knight, Revan, and his apocalyptic plan for victory. He had no other choice, and he had no reason to not trust the Jedi—even after what he proposed. If it would put an end to the war, Karath didn't care how the end came.

Even then, he still wasn't confident he'd be alive to see it.

 _Doesn't matter_ , he thought. _As long as it ends._

"Sir!" Carth Onasi's voice called out from the other end of the bridge. "We have contact!"

The bridge came alive with activity, with every crewmember within wanting to know if this was the moment: the one they had been waiting for since the war began.

"Is it friendly?" Karath asked, simply.

Onasi turned back, face pale. "No."

The bridge fell silent. All eyes fell to the Admiral, and he stood unshaken. His hand slowly brought his teacup back to his lips, and he finished off what was left. It scorched his throat, but he didn't so much as blink at the pain.

"Battlestations." Karath's voice carried across the bridge, through the comm, and across the HoloNet; as the radar screens of the _Leviathan_ filled with enemy contacts, the galaxy held its breath.

All that would ever be would start from this day.

Everyone in the galaxy would live under the shadow of Malachor V—forever.

The end starts now:


	22. And the Force Shall Tremble: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I have heard tales of Malachor. It is said that many of my people felt the end of the Mandalorian Wars from across the galaxy."_
> 
> -Visas Marr (3,951 BBY)
> 
> _"I still remember that final battle in the skies above Malachor V. The two fleets filling the space around it, outshining the stars..."_
> 
> -Canderous Ordo (3,956 BBY)
> 
> _"You know what? Not once have I asked you about the Mandalorian Wars. Not once. I heard about Dxun. Everyone has. And I sure as hell know about Malachor V. You've got plenty of lives to answer for—all you Jedi do."_
> 
> -Atton Rand (3,951 BBY)

The artificial light that blanketed Coruscant filtered into the Jedi Council meeting room, warming the air of it but not the hearts of the men and women who occupied it. It was here, atop the Temple's lone spire, that the twelve Masters of the High Council sat—and waited. They pondered with bated breath and nervous anticipation that, at any other time, would have been quite inappropriate for Masters of the Jedi Order.

But things were different now.

They couldn't afford to behave meditative, because this meeting was of the utmost importance. What happened in this chamber would decide how the Order would proceed through the ages. There were many things on trial, and they could not go about judging them all in the usual manner. There was just no precedent for what had occurred in their galaxy.

Master Vrook Lamar sat near the middle of the arced formation of the twelve Masters. Just to his left, at the head of the formation, was the leader of the Order, Nomi Sunrider—mother of Master Vima Sunrider from the Dantooine Enclave. To his right, the young, snowy-haired woman, Atris.

Master Vandar Tokare was unable to make the trip from Dantooine, but was present in the form of a flickering blue holoimage in the last seat of the arc. Even lightyears away, his anxiousness was easily spotted.

Vrook wished that Vandar had been able to accompany them physically, but the demands of the Dantooine Academy weren't easily trumped, even in a situation such as _this_. Anything corporeal from that setting would have put him more at ease than he was. He even wished Master Kreia had been able to make the trip.

He sighed. Wishing Kreia was here: now he _knew_ he was getting desperate.

His hands nervously rubbed the length of his bald head. A cold sweat layered it. With a grunt of aggravation, he wiped his hand on his robe and sat straight; his display hardly catching any attention.

And why should it have? There was plenty to be distracted by at that moment.

Below, in the thick of the Jedi Temple, he could feel every slight shock that arose with every rumor turned truth. He could sense the transient bubbles of fear that formed and swelled in the being of every student that caught wind of the event. He could feel the cold wash of the Room of a Thousand Fountains and the sudden warmth it emitted when their _visitor_ passed through.

He could feel the empty presence—they all could—as it ascended the turbolift to the Council meeting room. With each floor it passed, the lift brought this darkness closer to their room. It shouted and screamed and attempted to pull their thoughts through it like a string through the eye of a needle. It was difficult to resist. They had never felt anything like this before in the history of the Order.

And it wasn't long before it was at their door.

An entire platoon of Republic commandos filtered into the meeting room and flanked the doorway on either side. Their blaster rifles were held at their ready and their fingers rested on triggers; not standard procedure, but, again, forgivable.

The commander of the platoon saluted, his eyes helplessly switching back and forth from the doorway to the High Council. "Jedi Masters," he said. "Your prisoner has arrived."

Sunrider made a motion, putting the commander at ease. "The term _prisoner_ will be unnecessary, Commander."

"Yes, ma'am," the man replied, his head quickly turning to the door and back.

"You may bring her in."

"Yes, ma'am." The commander gestured to his soldiers. They moved to form a wall in front of the doorway and slowly retreated toward the center of the meeting room as the woman entered.

Vrook had to force himself not to turn away. It was like watching a piece of art he had worked on for decades suddenly show up defaced on his doorstep. His heart broke in that instant, frustration and anger swooping in to fill the void.

The woman, surrounded by heavily-armed commandos, had once stood before him with a head of fiery-red hair that now fell solid crimson around her face. The bright, vivid gaze of sky blue that use to emanate from her eyes had gone dark—almost black from where Vrook sat. And her skin, which held a peach-colored tint in his memory, was now drained of color. The girl was so pale it made him sick to look at her.

He could've cried right there. He could've wept for a bright future that had long since fallen to darkness and a woman who appeared to have died somewhere out there in the galaxy.

He could have, but he didn't. He wouldn't let himself. Instead, he sat as straight as he always did—his will, the only thing keeping him together. And he stared right into her eyes—

Into the dulled gaze of Meetra Surik.

"Bring her closer," Sunrider ordered, and the commandos moved their perimeter closer to the arc of Jedi Masters. Meetra obediently kept to its center. "You are to answer these preliminary questions without hesitation, do you understand."

Meetra nodded, absently.

"Is your name Meetra Surik?"

"Yes," the woman replied, her voice noticeably deeper and broken.

Sunrider continued. "Please state your rank."

"Knight of the Jedi Order. General of the Republic Armed Forces."

"Homeworld?"

"I don't know its name," Meetra replied. "Dantooine holds my earliest memories."

Sunrider jotted down a few notes on her datapad before addressing the Council. "I must remind everyone that Knight Surik is here of her own volition. She was not captured and there was no warrant for her arrest. Please factor this into the proceedings as the Inquiry begins."

The twelve members of the Council nodded in affirmation.

"This Inquiry will be focused on Knight Surik's disobeying of the Council's direct orders: that the Mandalorian invaders were not to be engaged until more information on the greater threat presented itself."

Meetra scoffed, openly, catching the Council by surprise.

Sunrider motioned to the Knight. "We might as well start now, then." She rested in her seat. "Do you understand that you blatantly defied the Council's wishes by joining the Republic war effort?"

"I understand."

"Do you claim any affiliation with the rogue group of Jedi, known to the Republic commonwealth as the _Revanchists_?"

Meetra's head tilted slightly. "I wasn't aware of such a title, but if you're referring to the group that followed Jedi Knight Revan Versirath to war, then: _yes_ , I was affiliated."

Sunrider shrugged. "Then, I suppose the most obvious question is: Why did you defy us?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," Meetra replied sharply.

The Council exchanged glances.

Vrook spoke up, masking his anger. "Surely there's a part of you that trusts in the word of the Council, seeing how you followed us with such obedience before the war began."

Meetra turned to face her old Master. "I'm aware of the role that the Jedi must play in the galaxy. _Keepers of the Peace_ —not soldiers. But it became clear to me that if the Jedi didn't act, there wouldn't be a Republic to defend."

"You think yourself to be wiser than the Council?" Vrook asked.

The woman shook her head. "No... but I wouldn't put it past Revan."

"Ah." Vrook rose to his feet. "Then let's cut to the chase here. It was _Revan_ who gambled with the lives of the galaxy, and you were just following a friend." He sighed. "A very poor time to give in to peer pressure, young one."

"I understood my choice, as I do now."

"You would follow him again, given all that has transpired since?"

"Without question."

Vrook gritted his teeth. "Even after what happened at Malachor Five?"

Meetra's eyes became white saucers as she stood visibly stunned and disturbed. She didn't answer the question.

"By what we've gathered from official reports, it seems you had a big hand in that... _crime_ against life. Is that the lesson that you took from your time on Dantooine? Is that our fault? That when you reach an impasse, then everything around it must be destroyed."

"It ended the war," Meetra replied, weakly.

"Is that what you've been telling yourself since that day?" Vrook pulled a datapad from his robe pocket and tossed it at Meetra's feet. "Look at the casualty reports! Every number on there represents _life_ —a name, a story, a future, a family—snuffed out by _you_."

"It…" Meetra's jaw went firm. "It had to be done. None of you were there."

"No," Vrook breathed. "No, I suppose we weren't. But we _were_ there—for your first one." The woman's eyes snapped up to meet his stare. "It took a while, but a report eventually reached us about your first kill. The father you murdered in the market streets on Dantooine."

"That wasn't murder!" Meetra roared.

"They say it gets easier from there, Surik. I bet the next life you took didn't even register!"

Sunrider held up a hand. "Enough. Master Vrook, take your seat."

Vrook groaned, but kept his pride in check. He obediently returned to his seat.

"Jedi Knight Surik." Sunrider motioned to the young woman. "Do you defend the tactics employed by Jedi Knight Revan during the battle over Malachor Five?"

Meetra's lips quivered. "Defend his tactics?" she said. "I carried them out."

Sunrider nodded contemplatively and said simply, "Start from the beginning."

And the Knight complied—as firmly as she could manage.

* * *

In the valley below, it was one of many: a battle over a section of the planet that had no strategic value. It was merely a place where two armies happened to meet.

It was a swarm of orange and silver specks that clashed in a jagged line of sparks and fire. Explosions bloomed on either side, wiping out entire divisions of footsoldiers. Bombers from both sides flew overhead, targeting heavy artillery and tanks until their payloads were empty, then they turned on each other.

And when the air support killed each other off, a heavy battlecruiser would hover into view to back up their ground units—then the other side's would arrive, as well—and the two starships would collide in a roaring entanglement of flak and plasma that shadowed the valley. Debris the size of starfighters would rain down upon the helpless soldiers below, their lives now threatened by the very ships that had come to their rescue.

Only one starship would win, but, in the end, everyone lost—as the mangled and disabled battlecruiser plummeted toward the ground, crushing the soldiers of both sides until—

"Their engines are going critical, ma'am!" the N7 pilot shouted. "It's not gonna make it!"

Meetra leaned out the side of the exposed troop bay of the dropship and watched the crashing battlecruiser cut a fissure of ash and flame into the valley floor, effectively wiping out the embattled Mandalorian and Republic footsoldiers in the area. The concussion of decompressing airlocks and the _ping_ noise of popping energy cells rocked the dropship and very nearly knocked Meetra off her feet.

She covered her ears and motioned to the pilot. "Take us back up! That one's useless now."

"Roger!" and the pilot guided the N7 back up toward the gray fog above them. Nearly a week of fighting had polluted the entirety of Malachor V's perfect blue skies with a thick layer of smoke. It didn't do much for the clashing starships, but it worked for moving around the planet unnoticed.

Just before the smoky atmosphere swallowed up the dropship, the battlecruiser down in the valley disappeared into a bulb of bright light, and the valley was filled to its ridges with apocalyptic flame.

Meetra watched the valley burn; it looked like a lightning bolt. She had seen that same sight many times today, and it probably wouldn't be the last. She thought of all the scorched and vaporized corpses that had just accumulated before her eyes and she forced herself to try and feel something close to sadness, but it didn't work. Nothing happened.

She blinked, and the image of all that carnage and all that death... was gone. It disturbed her how easy it had been to forget. It disturbed her more than the deaths themselves.

Bao-Dur moved along side her, though with a bit of hesitation. He didn't seem to like standing near the edge of a drop that spanned a few kilometers. "You still here?" he asked.

Meetra thought about it, and nodded.

"We only have one left," Bao-Dur said, seeming relieved as he said it. "One left—and the war's done. All of this—" He stuck his hand out into the smoke. "—is done."

The Jedi wanted to believe him, but what she had been taught back on Dantooine kept rising up to slap her in the face. It whispered to her: _At what cost?_

The war _would_ end, there was no doubt about that. Revan's plan was flawless; it left no room for error, but when that final moment eventually came, there would be no chance it would fail. Absolutely no chance.

"We've got another one," the pilot said, pressing the comm receiver to his ear. "Another battlecruiser's going down near the southern icecap. The _An'deros_. Hammerhead-class."

Meetra gave a thumbs-up. "Let's go."

* * *

"What was the purpose of finding these downed ships?" Sunrider asked.

Meetra stopped her story without blinking and indulged the Master. "The devices that our mechanic had built required an anti-matter reaction to fuel the generators. Since none of the ships in our fleet could spare the anti-matter, we had to wait until either our ships or _theirs_ ditched on the planet." She took a breath and kept talking. "At which point, we would attach the generators to the derelict's hyperdrive and move on to the next... We needed _five_ in all."

The High Council each wore various shades of disbelief across their faces.

Atris was the first to speak up. "And this was a part of your plan before the battle began?" she demanded.

"Yes," Meetra replied. "We planned on large-scale casualties. It would've been foolish to not take this into account."

"I'm sorry that my knowledge of intergalactic warfare is not as _refined_ as yours," Atris hissed, "but this is the first time I've heard of a military commander actually integrating her own soldiers' deaths into her battle strategy."

"As you said, you're not as refined as most," Meetra snapped, prompting a brief sneer out of Atris. "When _everything_ depends on your victory, you take _everything_ into account. There are very few military commanders who've come face to face with what we've seen out there on the lines."

"Oh, then _enlighten_ us. What could you have possibly seen that would persuade you to do what you did to Malachor Five?"

Meetra cast a glance through a nearby window. "I saw the fall of the Republic," she said, leveling the anxious atmosphere in the room. "I saw everything that you and I stand for rest on a razor's edge so fine that it cut us to even do nothing at all. No decision we made ended in a proper victory. It was an intergalactic triage. Entire worlds burned when we were forced to save another. We heard ghosts out there nearly everyday: distress calls that had been sent on such a high frequency that they echoed through space for weeks... even after those who sent the signal had already been killed.

"You asked me to enlighten you... I could never do that. I could never make you see what I've seen, because you weren't there. And if you had been, you'd have been at Malachor with me—defending all that we had left."

* * *

The sky had taken on a twilit hue when Meetra's N7 reached the southern icecap of Malachor V. By that time, the battle in orbit had been raging long enough that debris began to rain down onto the planet like a perpetual meteor shower. Bright streaks of green and red light cut through the smoke-covered sky and struck the ice, sending up tall, thick columns of snow that hung suspended in the air.

The N7 passed through one of these columns, and a thin wall of snow struck Meetra's body as she maintained her place near the opened troop bay door. The frost melted on her warm skin, but the icy chill that blew in through the door quickly turned it back to ice, making her exposed forearms look cracked and glossy. For the longest time, she hadn't even noticed this, but when she did she brushed it off and went back to watching the scene from her vista.

She couldn't help but continuously stare into what the planet had to offer. For all she knew, not much of it would exist after the generators were activated. There was no regret. It was an acceptable loss: one planet to end a war that would've claimed hundreds or thousands more otherwise. But still, that didn't mean Malachor V had no worth to it.

The pilot turned back to shout at his passengers, "We're coming up on it!"

Meetra nodded and turned to Bao-Dur. "Are you ready?"

"If this is the real deal, then... _yes_ , I think I'm ready." The Zabrak's arms were cradling the last of the five black gears. He was trembling slightly, and Meetra didn't think it was from the cold. "I think I'm ready."

She had already worn out her "endurement" speeches, so she didn't even bother humoring Bao-Dur this time; he had heard it all. "Stay close. Stay low."

The crashed hammerhead-class vessel came into full view through the white haze of the lands. It was ditched upon a very large and very tall spire of ice; it looked as though the tundra had reached out and speared the ship in midair. Smoke was billowing up thick from it and powerful backdrafts were blowing out the airlocks across its length. The survivors of the crash were venturing out onto what little stable ground they had to work with. They were crowded and clearly panicked by the way they bustled around. It was clear that a few of them had already lost their footing, judging by the orange specks peppering the ground at the base of the spire.

 _Maybe it's just debris_ , Meetra thought to herself, though she couldn't bring herself to believe it.

"I can't drop you off on the mountain. Too many people, they'll crowd me," the pilot said. "I'll have to drop you off on top of the ship itself."

"Copy that," Meetra replied.

"And don't go opening the wrong airlocks." He pointed to where another backdraft had burst out through an airlock, this one ripped the hatch off the ship and sent it whipping into the crowd of the Republic survivors. A large group of them were knocked off the edge. They kicked and waved in terror the entire way to the ground.

Bao-Dur was stunned by the scene for a brief moment, but shook himself out of it. "Drop us off near the rear of this ship," he said, his voice breaking. "There's a maintenance hatch we can use to get to the engine room."

"Roger," the pilot said. "Taking us down."

The N7 cut its main thrusters and hovered over the hammerhead-class with repulsors only. The pilot brought the ship down low enough that Meetra and Bao-Dur were able to step off the ramp without trouble.

"Pull back to a safe position," Meetra said to the pilot through the comm. "Don't let the survivors call you down. We don't have enough room to even take a tenth of them. The rescue teams will take care of them later."

 _"Yes, ma'am. Pulling away."_ The N7 ascended into the air and zipped up into the safety of the smoky atmosphere. When Meetra turned her attention back to the derelict, Bao-Dur already had the maintenance hatch open and was motioning her over. She made her way over, watching her step on the slick of the icy hull of the ship; and doing her best to ignore the hundreds of cries directed at her from the survivors below.

There wasn't anger in their tone, only excitement. A Jedi, one they had fought along side for months, was here among them. They cheered and beckoned her down with as much energy as they could manage. They did so because they trusted her completely, and blindly: a trust that, unbeknownst to them, had long since been misplaced.

* * *

"So, you left them there?" Vrook asked, incredulously.

"There was nothing I could've done for them, Master Vrook," Meetra said patiently. "I'm attempting to answer your questions to the fullest. It's going to be a very long day if every moral dilemma I traversed is going to come under fire."

"I understand this, but the very reason you entered the war was to save the Republic. No matter what this Council might think of how the situation was handled by the Revanchists, you must see that from your perspective, leaving a group of soldiers to their fate flies in the face of your reasons for going to war: to _save_ the Republic!" He threw up his hands, flustered. "Forgive me, _that's_ what I don't understand."

Meetra turned away. "They were safe when I left them."

"But you were never going to save them," Vrook said. "A rescue team was never going to come for them. You knew they were never going to make it off that planet alive. You and Revan obviously made _damn_ sure of that."

Sunrider nodded in Vrook's direction. "That's enough, Vrook. Mind your emotions."

"Forgive me, Master Sunrider, but this is important," and Vrook continued on. "This makes you a bit of a hypocrite, doesn't it, Surik? You run away, defy the Council, the Order—all to save the Republic, which you eventually abandon to their fate. Tell me, Meetra! Tell me how this made sense to you as that war came to an end, as you signed the death warrant of Malachor Five and the millions of lives lost upon it!"

"Stop…" Meetra's hands flew up to cover her ears. "Please, stop…"

"Why should I give you the mercy? Face what you've become, Meetra Surik! You're no better than the Mandalorians that ravaged this galaxy and the Sith before them! You've become a monster destined to live on in the Archives alongside Exar Kun himself!"

"STOP!" Meetra crumbled to the ground. Her hand ignited her lightsaber, but she could barely hold it. The soldiers surrounding her took aim, focusing their crosshairs on the woman's skull, but she didn't get up from the floor. She sat there, helpless, crying warm tears at the feet of the High Council.

The lightsaber dropped to the ground with a metallic clank and hissed back docile.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she whimpered, bracing herself on the cold floor and looking down into it like a mirror. "I can see their faces…" She laughed lightly and took in a stuttered breath. "I can finally see their faces…"


	23. And the Force Shall Tremble: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"It was not your ships or your men or your vaunted 'fight for freedom' that won this, the final battle of the war. It was by the actions of one person, the Jedi Revan, that you prevailed. Revan's strategies and tactics defeated the best of us._
> 
> _Even Mandalore himself was taken aback by the ferocity of his attacks, the tenacity of his defenses, and the subtlety of his plans. Revan fought us to a standstill and then began pushing us back. We didn't really have a chance._
> 
> _It was what we had wanted all along, in a way. We wanted to fight the best in a battle that would be remembered for centuries…_
> 
> _And we did."_
> 
> -Canderous Ordo (3,956 BBY)

Bao-Dur placed the generator on the casing of the derelict's hyperdrive reactor and held it there until it connected with a magnetic thump. He punched in the proper commands without hesitation. Meetra had been wondering if the final ignition of the Zabrak's generators would have provoked some sort of impromptu ceremony out of the man, but there was nothing. No pause before the last button was pressed. No muttering or plea to some higher power. Just a few quick strikes on the generator's keypad and Bao-Dur turned away, relieved.

"Ready to go when you are, General," he said. There was the slightest bit of a smile on his face, but Meetra wasn't sure how to take it. Was he happy because the war was about to end, or that he would finally get to see his devices in action?

She didn't have time to think about that, there were more pressing matters at hand.

They retraced their steps through the derelict's ravaged hallways; over debris, buckled flooring, and charred bodies. Bao-Dur's familiarity with the hammerhead-class layout was their only guide through the corridors dimly illuminated with emergency lighting. The Zabrak mechanic almost didn't have to look where he was going.

"The hatch is just at the end of this corridor," Bao-Dur called back to the Jedi in tow. "Might want to let our pilot know we're coming."

"Right." Meetra tapped her comlink. "En-Seven One-Oh-One, we're on our way back to the top of the ship. Over."

Static returned to her ear, which got worse every time they neared a broken conduit in the corridor. The damage to the ship was interfering with the link. _"Negative!"_ the pilot's voice returned. _"Negative! Can't make LZ. Rerouting to... an... er…"_

The channel went dead.

"We're gonna have to wait him out topside," Meetra said to Bao-Dur. "I think he's having some trouble up there and there's too much interference around us."

"Leaves us out in the open."

"If Mandie takes another shot at this vessel, I'd much rather be out there than in here. Were barely balancing on this pillar of ice as it is."

Bao-Dur nodded and smiled, as if he would ever argue with her. "Yes, ma'am."

They approached their exit to find that the airlock had sealed itself shut. A red light nearby was flashing brightly and console to open it back up was shorted out.

Bao-Dur pulled out a hydrospanner from his belt. "This ship's infrastructure is starting to collapse on us. The computer's shutting down everything but life support to conserve energy."

"All right, so is this a problem?"

"Just what kind of mechanic do you think you hired?" He winked and climbed up the side of the wall to reach the closed airlock. After a moment's work, the Zabrak had another panel opened and his hands autonomously went about rewiring the circuitry. "And _you_ go over... _here_!" He muttered, and no sooner had he said this did the airlock hiss open, allowing a blast of frigid, arctic air into the passageway.

Bao-Dur looked down at the Jedi. "What kind of mechanic am I?" he asked with a devious grin.

Meetra sighed and happily played along. "The best kind."

"That's right," Bao-Dur said, and began to pull himself through the opening.

But not one second after poking his head through, Meetra was suddenly floored by an intense sensation running up her spine and around her neck. Something was wrong. "Bao-Dur, wait!"

She could barely finish her sentence before the Zabrak let out a terrible scream. Bao-Dur lost his grip on the frame of the airlock and tumbled back to the ground at Meetra's feet. And his left arm, still gripping the hydrospanner, thumped onto the floor next to him—severed to the bicep.

* * *

Vrook addressed his datapad, grimacing now more than he had throughout the entire hearing. There was no fear in him, only the anguish of being forced to query what would come next. He felt as though he had gone into a garden to casually uproot some pesky weeds. But now, with every subtle dig, instead of finding weeds was finding corpses. And there just seemed no end to them.

"Our data is incomplete on what happened next," he grumbled in Meetra's direction. "We have Chief Mechanic Bao-Dur's injury in the casualty report and your name on the manifest of the N7 you had commandeered for this... _activity._ " He tossed the datapad on the floor. "Care to fill us in?"

Meetra was still cross-legged on the ground, tears dripping off onto her lap. Her lightsaber was on the floor beside her, still inactive, quiet. But her emotions told the story to the Council in a more defined manner than her words could ever speak. They could all see the face of torment, wrath, and sadness blur into a misty canvas of the scene the young Jedi had painted in the heat of that moment on Malachor V.

And for all their wisdom and experience, they could barely look into it.

Bringing up the sleeve of her robe, Meetra wiped the tears from her cheeks and took in a deep breath from the recycled air of the chamber. Her exhale was stuttered and weak.

"We had just finished installing the last generator... Bao-Dur and I," she said. "We were on our way out for extraction when we ran into a complication."

"Complication?" Sunrider asked, patiently.

Meetra nodded. "The Mandalorians had landed on our pillar and had spent the better part of the hour picking off the surviving Republic soldiers from a safe distance. I had been so absorbed in our mission that I hadn't sensed it until it was too late. Everyone outside had been killed. They hardly had the weaponry to return fire, it was a slaughter."

The image of Master Vandar shifted in its seat. _"Face them, did you?"_

"Yes."

_"Outnumbered?"_

The young Jedi nodded again. "Yes."

Vandar lowered his head. _"How was the situation handled?"_ he asked, calmly.

Meetra shivered and her eyes fell to the ground. "Effectively."

* * *

Meetra's ignited lightsaber flooded the derelict's corridor with brilliant green light, and the Force propelled her up and out through the opened airlock above her. She came to rest on the hull silently and was immediately surrounded by a thick squad of Mandalorian shock troopers.

Only a fraction of them opened fire, to avoid hitting their comrades across from them. But Meetra made sure this happened anyway. She widened her stance and her lightsaber darted from side to side, connecting with nearly every blaster bolt aimed at her and deflecting them, striking a quarter of the squad directly in their foreheads.

Without a moment's hesitation, another fraction of the squad produced a wall of gleaming vibroblades. They came at her, grunts rising up with every swing missed. Meetra danced around every blade; they had made the mistake of aiming for the jugular, which made dodging the attacks effortless.

Between all of the slashing and dodging, she found an opening and exploited it fully. Her lightsaber whipped around, searing off the heads of three troopers simultaneously. The macabre of the sight prompted a few of the Mandalorians to take a step back.

And that was the end of that.

Meetra broke the line and began cutting down the enemy at their exposed sides. Soon, the only sound she could hear was the loud clank of armored body parts hitting the hull, and she didn't stop until the sound of silence replaced it. The last soldier was felled with a quick strike through to the heart, who collapsed onto his own vibroblade and slid off the hull and into the snow.

Her hand, willed by the Force, suddenly rose up to deflect another bolt aimed at her head. She looked down to find another squad of Mandalorians standing among the bloodied Republic soldier corpses carpeting the snowy flat of the spire. Even as the dead of her fellow compatriots filled her vision, every ounce of rage within her was still focused on the enemy troopers, which was fueled by the mental image of Bao-Dur writhing in pain, brutally deformed, back in the derelict's airlock.

They would pay for what they did to her friend. They would pay for it sevenfold.

The Force guided Meetra into the center of the squad, where her saber went to work cutting down the weapons her enemy had ready. Blaster rifles were cut down to their triggers and many hands went with them. With the Mandalorians disarmed—in some cases, literally—all that was left to do was clean up. The squad dissolved into a cloud of red mist and metallic shards. And there was silence once more.

Behind Meetra, there was still one last Mandalorian left on the ice spire: the commander. The Mandalorian, wearing a suit of armor painted with stripes of red, began to fire away at the approaching Jedi with a heavy blaster pistol. The bolts slammed against Meetra's lightsaber as the shots were harmlessly directed away into the snow

The enemy commander began to jump back and surrender ground to the Jedi, firing as fast as he could efficiently allow. With only a few steps left, backed up against the silvery edge of the mountainous spire of ice, he redirected his pistol toward his own head. Meetra could sense a smile behind the commander's helmet, as though he was confident that she wouldn't receive the satisfaction of his death.

It was a sight to see, coming from a Mandalorian. Meetra silently wondered if such a display meant the end of the war was fast approaching. In any case, this Mandalorian wasn't going to be taking the easy way out. Not if she could help it.

Her hand outstretched, and she willed the Force to rip the pistol out of the commander's hand, the ferocity of it nearly taking the man's trigger finger along with it. And with a fearsome leap, she flew up into the air above the Mandalorian, green blade held up over her head and a smile burning up her face.

For that moment, she knew: her blade was the only justice in the galaxy that truly mattered.

_"Finish it."_

Meetra's lightsaber came down on the Mandalorian commander's helmet, and didn't stop pressing in until it slid into the snow. For a moment, both of the two figures on the ice spire stood completely still, both of them still racing to catch up to the present, when all was suddenly revealed.

The commander's body split apart, from head to groin, flopping onto the spire's edge and tumbling down into the arctic abyss, out of sight. Meetra watched the mutilated corpse during the entire fall, spitting curses in its direction. Another pang through the Force relaying Bao-Dur's agony snapped her out of her trance. She sprinted back toward the ship and leaped up to the opened airlock.

The Zabrak was still on the floor, his spared arm clutching his stub near the wound to stop the bleeding. He was moaning quietly and his eyes looked tired. Meetra could feel her friend's life draining away from his body. Acting quickly, she brought her lightsaber over and ran it along the cut, cauterizing the wound but effectively sending Bao-Dur into shock. He convulsed lightly before passing out.

 _"Ge... General Surik, can you hear me!"_ the N7 pilot's voice hissed through the comm.

"Yes, I can hear you," Meetra snapped. "We need pickup immediately. Bao-Dur's been injured."

_"There's still heavy fighting going on in that sector, ma'am. I don't know if we can—"_

Meetra interrupted. "You _will_. You will make this pickup. I don't care how much fighting is going on, I will rip you out of the damn sky if I have to. Now _move_!"

There was a moment of static on the comm before, _"Yes, ma'am. Right away, ma'am. On approach as we speak."_

With hardly any trouble at all, Meetra lifted Bao-Dur's limp form onto her shoulders and used the Force to propel them both out through the airlock. From the north, the small N7 transport weaved through the clouds of flak and smoke. It descended on the ice spire so quickly that it very nearly slammed into the derelict vessel upon it.

The landing ramps opened and Meetra quickly moved inside to get her and her friend out of the cold. The ramps were immediately sealed behind her and the ship was away into the air.

"There's a medpac in the compartment near the back!" the pilot shouted back into the hold. "What's his injury?"

Meetra was already ripping the medpac from its casing and applying it to the Zabrak's substantial wound. "Severed arm at the bicep."

"Right," the pilot sighed. "I'll call it in. A medic will be waiting on the deck when we're back on the _Duskwind_."

"Very good," Meetra returned.

The N7 roared through the thick of the orbital battle surrounding the entirety of Malachor V. From every angle, there were transient bursts of flame in the infinite darkness and flickering sparks of cannon batteries being emptied into enemy starships. Every kilometer or so, the hull of the N7 would vibrate with a soft thump, as they made their way through a zero gravity field of frozen corpses, unintentionally pulverizing what remained of fallen soldiers into glittering chunks of shinematter.

But Meetra felt none of this through the Force. Her mind was intensely latched onto her crippled friend. For a brief moment, she felt another pang through the Force. It gave the impression of a swansong, sad and empty, the closing note of a composition that had been building toward its end for a very long time.

Meetra continued to ignore it. She pushed it to the back of her mind, as the N7 docked with Revan's capital ship, _Duskwind;_ as she hurried Bao-Dur's semi-conscious body through the winding corridors when there was no medic to be found on the landing platform—as she found Revan and Malak standing side by side in front of a wide viewport, she ignored it still.

The two Jedi stood unmoving. Revan's face was drowned in the shadow of the cowl of his dark robe, his arms tucked way beneath the sleeves. Malak's face was visible, and his eyes darted around in an attempt to catch every winking explosion of the battle raging around Malachor V.

"You're just in time." Revan didn't look away from his view. His voice seemed deeper than it ever had before and it vibrated the air it moved through. "It was fate that we'd all be here to see this. To bear witness to the birth of a new age."

Malak exhaled. "Finally, it may all be at an end."

Revan's cowl slowly shook from side to side. "Not an end. Nothing ever ends—not in this galaxy," he said. "The Republic will soon come to face this terrible truth."

He turned to face Meetra. It hadn't even been a day since she saw him last, and his face had already grown paler. His eyes faintly shined with a red glint and the sockets around them were sunken. Meetra's subtle gasp forced Bao-Dur to look at what was happening. The Zabrak also took on a look of surprise.

Revan grinned, as if taking delight in his friends' bewilderment. "All of this will pass," he hissed. "All of us are motes of dust suspended in the dark." He held his arms outspread toward Malachor V. "Now they will all see! They will all embrace that which they have feared for far too long! The darkness abides—behold its waking power!"

* * *

Sergeant Acys moved his platoon forward, finally breaching the enemy lines after hours of constant onslaught. His men stepped over bodies and sloshed through blood-soaked mud. He urged his men on, shouting at them until his throat burned from it.

"Take them now! Every step they gain is a step toward out homes! Our families!" His blaster rifle tore through a Mandalorian trooper. "For the Republic!"

He took his first step into the enemy outpost.

When it reached him, he hardly had the time to look up. He saw only a dark purple flash, but in that moment he witnessed the horrors of ages. The planet beneath his feet buckled and heaved upward, deforming the land and destroying whatever beauty still remained upon it. He saw his men flinch slightly before they were lifted up into the sky and shredded into bits of black debris.

Acys didn't even have the time to blink. The darkness ripped him to pieces.

* * *

Bao-Dur had to brace himself against the corridor wall with his good arm when Meetra suddenly went limp. Her knees gave out from under her and she nearly had to get down on all fours. Her mind was burning with the scar of something torn from it. She tried to find her footing but she could hardly find the courage to look up.

There was only silence. A _terrible_ silence in the corridor, beyond the bulkhead and in the space beyond.

And silence in the Force. She couldn't feel anything. As much as she willed herself to look into it or touch it, there was nothing there to take hold of.

She groaned lowly and her hands pressed against her temples.

Revan and Malak didn't look away from the sight outside their viewport. They didn't so much as blink, or react in any visible way as Malachor V imploded into a cloud darker than the space around it.

Meetra couldn't bring herself to look outside. She couldn't see anything past her tears, anyway. Just faintly, she thought she saw Revan look down at her, and he whispered something, only briefly, before turning back to the orchestrated chaos beyond—

* * *

"The last record we have of Chief Mechanic Bao-Dur on file came from when he was discharged from sick bay," Vrook said, as Sunrider used the Force to pass a datapad in his direction. "Of course, his last words concerned you. We can only assume this was just before he went AWOL and disappeared with the many others displaced by your actions."

He brought up the right file and began to read. "It says, 'This isn't what I wanted. We all put forth our best efforts to keep the demons at bay, but we, ourselves, became demons that make even the darkest nightmares pleasantly bearable. We looked into the abyss, but we had no concept of how that abyss also looked into us.

"'I didn't know it at first, and maybe I never would have if I hadn't seen her face. The second the generators activated, the general looked at me. Her eyes, they were tormented beyond all comprehension, and I knew right then that she was lost. We were all lost. We had made a terrible mistake. We can never go back. My death will never be punishment enough for what I've done... We are lost.'"

Vrook tapped the datapad against his chin. "Is that why you left? Did you feel as guilty as this Zabrak did?"

Meetra looked up from the floor but didn't reply.

"What did you think we would do to do when you showed up here? I mean, obviously you're here at your own accord, we probably would have never found you with all the discourse in the galaxy right now. So? What were you expecting of us?"

Meetra shook her head. "I don't know."

"Were you expecting us to kill you? Banish you to a barren planet beyond the rim for the rest of your life? Let me tell you, some of these sound close to the justice you deserve, but that's not why you're really here is it?"

The girl kept silent.

Vrook shrugged. "It's not our place to punish. The Force will decide that for you."

"I can't!" Meetra screamed, startling everyone within the room. "I can't—!"

"Can't what!" Vrook shouted back, though something within him knew the answer. But he wouldn't dare admit to it, even within his own mind. "I move for a vote of expulsion from the Jedi Order against Meetra Surik. How does the Council vote?"

Almost without hesitation, twelve "aye's" rose up within the chamber.

"No!" Meetra was on her feet, ready to approach the Masters but the guards held her back tightly. "You can't do this to me!" she growled. "You can't leave me like this! _I can't feel anything_! Please!"

"The vote is unanimous," Vrook's voice boomed. "Remove her from the Temple grounds!"

Meetra ignited her lightsaber and managed to get her arm back from the guards. With one swing, she threw the weapon. It spiraled end over end until it connected—with the large stone statue sitting in the middle of the Council chamber. She was forced into the elevator, and her screams continued until the doors slammed shut. Vrook and the rest of the Council could only stare at the closed door, and they did so in silence for quite some time.

Vrook exhaled, wondering what they had just sent away.

* * *

The guards dragged Meetra the entire way out of the Temple. She couldn't stop screaming. There was nothing for her now. She had nowhere to go and no life to live. The galaxy frightened her more than the greatest foe or the darkest dream.

There was nothing left to guide her step anymore. Revan was gone. Malak was gone. The life she had left behind on Dantooine was as dead as Malachor V.

And the Force had abandoned her.

It was as Bao-Dur had said: "We are lost."

* * *

Meetra couldn't bring herself to look outside. She couldn't see anything past her tears, anyway. Just faintly, she thought she saw Revan look down at her, and he whispered something, only briefly, before turning back to the orchestrated chaos beyond—

_"This is but a taste of the dark side."_


	24. Here at the Blinding Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Here in my Meditation Chamber I can see the galaxy in my mind's eye... I can visualize vast armies, powerful fleets, invincible warriors... and with Sith arts, my imagination can make them real!"_
> 
> -Dark Lord Naga Sadow (5,000 BBY)

The week following the destruction of Malachor V was laden with rescue and recovery missions. All of the ships in low orbit, both Republic and Mandalorian, had been destroyed by the mass shadow generator's cosmic reach. The few ships that survived the frontlines, which had taken refuge in high orbit, were badly damaged and, in some cases, completely unsalvageable.

The Republic fleet had been victorious, but it was not a success that many felt immediately, if at all. Morale was lower than it had ever been. More than half of the fleet had been wiped out and all of the ground forces that hadn't been evacuated to a high orbit triage were gone. Funerals were being held every few minutes, and most had very little to bury.

After the carnage had settled, and the ball of shadow surrounding Malachor V had dissipated enough for the wrecked, green surface to appear, Revan was nowhere to be found.

Admiral Saul Karath had many problems on his hands. Organizing the rescue efforts between a battered fleet was enough to keep him from sleeping, but dealing with the boatload of soldiers going AWOL everyday, and clearing out holds in which to keep the Mandalorian prisoners, he was a man truly on the edge.

He paced the main corridor of the _Leviathan_ , watching his crew sprint in all directions toward their next assignment. There were hardly any repairs to be done; the cruiser had taken only minor damage in the battle due to Revan's insistence that the fleet be divided into separate orbits. Rumors were beginning to circulate that perhaps the reasons for the division were of the more sinister variety.

Ships like the _Leviathan_ , armed with enough firepower to glass an entire city, were kept at the rear of the line, and were conveniently out of harm's way when the generator was activated. The casualties from this part of the fleet could be counted by the dozens in contrast to the tens of thousands that were lost in low orbit. Many believed this to be too convenient, and soldiers were abandoning the fleet in droves.

The war was over at any rate, so Karath decided against sending patrols out after the wayward soldiers, but he was doing his best to prevent more from leaving. He didn't want his fleet to come apart, not now. Revan would be his best chance to rally the fleet back under one banner, but all three of the Jedi compatriots had simply vanished.

Meetra Surik was said to have left with some of the deserters, which confused Karath to no end. Malak had told one of his commanders that he would be reporting to Revan on the _Duskwind_ and now he was missing, too. Karath couldn't help but suppose that Revan and Malak had left together to wherever they were now. His greatest fear was that the two Jedi had followed Surik's example and deserted as well. The very thought of it brought a shiver to his spine, a feeling he hadn't known in a long time.

But that couldn't be it, Karath reasoned. There's no way Revan would jump ship at this part of the campaign: at its end. It was outrageously outside the realm of what Revan would do, given all that had happened since the war began. Through all the victories, close calls and losses, Revan never faltered. He always had another plan, another way to put the Republic on the offensive. Maybe his absence was just another part of the plan.

That's what Karath hoped, at least. Without Revan, the fleet would likely be drifting for months until either mutiny ran rampant or a rescue party from Coruscant arrived.

He wiped the sweat from his brow when he was sure none of the crewmembers were watching, and he quietly hoped that Revan would return soon.

 _"Admiral Karath, sir, come in!"_ a voice hissed through Karath's personal comm.

"What is it?" he said, thumbing the receiver.

 _"Sir, Revan and Malak have just arrived in Docking Bay Two. We're not sure what to do here!"_ The man on the comm began muttering lowly to himself. _"I don't know what to do. Damn it all, I don't know."_

"Calm down." Karath said, concern growing inside his chest. The vibe he got from the man, it sounded like panic, bordering on horror. "Tell me what's going on."

 _"I... I don't know, s-sir."_ Heavy breathing replaced his voice for a few seconds. _"I think they're gonna fight each other... I don't know."_

"What?"

 _"They have their lightsabers out and..."_ Silence for a few seconds more. _"May the Force have mercy on us if they kill each other."_

Karath pointed himself down the right corridor and ran. He had never run so fast in his life.

* * *

The tomb of Naga Sadow hummed darkly with the force of knowledge lain dormant for centuries. It hung in the very air, making it almost tangible. It would have been an odd feeling in years past but now, to Revan, such a presence spoke to the truth of the universe. That a voice from one so powerful shall not fade into nothingness, but will live on in eternity, echoing through the ages for those who might hear its call.

Revan listened for a long time, his mission accomplished. He had much weighing on his mind, but it was as open as it had ever been. The voice of Naga Sadow rippled through his consciousness like water over a riverstone, wearing away the rough edges and leaving order in its place. He was at peace with himself and what was to be done now that the war with the Mandalorians had been won.

Victory over an entire galactic race. That had only been the first step of his plan.

In the overwhelming quiet of the tomb, it was easy for Revan to hear footfalls approaching from behind. He knew who it was; the Force and the whisper in his ears told him so.

"Have you found all that you needed?" It was Uthar Wynn, the headmaster of the Sith Academy of Korriban. That was his name and title, but the whispers told Revan so much more about the man. His fears, his greatest joy, his ambition, and his weaknesses were laid out in front of Revan's mind like an Archive display. He knew more about Uthar than the man knew himself. What's more, they had only known each other one day.

Revan opened his eyes to the torchlit antechamber of the tomb. The more he delved into the inner-workings of the Force, the more he dreaded seeing the world with his own eyes. It was a distraction. A deception, as it were, and he was quickly growing tired of it.

"Is everything in order?" Uthar asked.

"Very much so," Revan replied. "The presence here is stronger than I ever would have imagined it would be."

Uthar nodded in agreement. "Lord Sadow has certainly not grown weaker since his death, that's for sure." His yellow eyes darted around the room, as if looking for the man he spoke of. "On nights when the students learn of his life, when they use his name in discussion, you can feel his aura in the deepest halls of the Academy. He demands to be heard."

"And why not?" Revan stood slowly and breathed deep of the musty air of the tomb. "Lord Sadow has much to teach us in death. Very rarely do Sith Lords die from old age. The lessons surrounding a life cut short can be most precious to someone who does not wish to make the same mistake."

Uthar grinned. "All too true." He looked over to the ancient relic that sat dormant on the floor near Revan. "Did it work?"

Revan looked to the relic—to the starmap that represented the final piece of a quest that he had sought the end to for so long. "It is accomplished," he said. "I will be leaving at once to follow this journey to its end. Then we shall see what machinations lie beyond the blinding edge of this path."

He tapped at the datapad in the pocket of his robe and continued. "Have Malak ready our ship. We will be returning to the Republic fleet. Expect word from us in a few months' time."

"Will we even have enough time?" Uthar asked, mildly concerned. "The rate of graduation from the Academy has not been steep in many years. Korriban is not the ideal place for recruitment and the Republic bars us from even so much as transmitting outside this sector."

"That will change soon enough," Revan assured the headmaster. "The Republic will soon attempt to rebuild itself. That will mean a diminished presence in core worlds as they try to regain their hold on the planets they've lost. They will be stretched too thin, leaving you with considerably more room to work with."

"I understand."

Revan looked into Uthar's yellow eyes without yield. He bore into them, and he remembered the one use that his eyes still had: intimidation. "Do not fail me, Uthar Wynn," he said. "I'm counting on you and your Academy to train the soldiers that I'll need when I return."

Uthar rested his fist against his chest in fealty, and bowed lowly before Revan. "I will not fail you," he said, "my master."

* * *

The ride back to the Republic fleet was a long one, fraught with silence and bitter stares. Revan watched the hyperspace distortion whip past the front viewport, trying to look beyond the bright curtain into what lay beyond it. He was watching the very fabric of the universe being torn asunder, and he very much liked the sight of it.

It was toward the end of the trip that he could no longer ignore the darkness that had been swelling within Malak. "Something wrong, Brother?" he asked, not taking his eyes away from the distortion.

Malak didn't reply.

"We are children of the Force, Malak," Revan said at length. "You cannot hide your feelings from me, no matter how deeply you bury them."

"There is nothing I wish to say," Malak answered. "Let us finish your quest and be done with it."

Revan finally turned away from the viewport. " _My_ quest, Malak? At what point did I take possession of this thing that was _our_ creation."

"When you began to walk in places that I cannot." Malak growled a little under his breath. "There is power at the end of this path. Supreme power, and don't think for one moment that I've not seen it coming. There is not room for both of us there, and we both know who will claim that particular mantle."

Revan laughed loudly into the cockpit of their ship, and he could feel Malak's mood darken even further as he did. "Are you afraid of becoming the copilot of our little adventure? I won't lie to you, I must do what the shadows of our past demand so that I might keep order when the time comes. Do not let that fact allow your mind to diminish your role in this. You will always be a key factor in whatever I do from here."

Malak slammed his fist against the flight console. "I will not be a pawn in your game! I will not be your _right hand_! We started this journey together, damn you!"

Revan could only stare at his friend as their ship dropped out of hyperspace and began to drift toward one of the _Leviathan_ 's docking bays. "We will not discuss this anymore. If you must bring this up again, then wait until our mission is accomplished."

The darkness quelled a bit in Malak's mind, but it did not disappear. Revan knew this would be a fight that he would have again, but he didn't care at all if it happened after they had finished their mission. Let the galaxy fall—he needed to see this quest through to its end.

* * *

Their ship maglocked against the docking bay of the _Leviathan_. Revan and Malak disembarked to the warm smiles of crewmembers who had felt truly lost in the Jedi's absence. A few of them even clapped.

Revan spotted the dark orange durasteel of his droid off in the corner. He was surprised to see the thing here, since it was supposed to be acclimating itself to the _Duskwind_. He walked over to meet it. "Aitch-Kay," he said with a nod. "Good to see you patrolling outside your parameters."

HK-47 nodded in return. "Explanation: Why, it was you, master, who programmed me to be 'super-thorough' in every task I am handed. I calculated that taking the extra initiative would appease you."

"We both know that's not true," Revan said accusingly. "How did you get over here?"

"Clarification: Given the state of the Republic fleet at the moment, I was easily able to secure a ride with one of the transport pilots."

Revan crossed his arms and stared at his droid, who cocked its head. "Where's the pilot?"

HK-47 looked around, as if nervously scanning for an exit. "Answer: Suffering from a mild concussion in the cockpit of his transport. And, hopefully, dreaming about the day when he can politely redeem himself for denying my request."

Revan couldn't help but smile. "Next time, tell them you're under my command and the process should go much smoother."

"Revelation: Yes, that would have been much easier than beating him over the back of the head with his datapad. Easier, indeed, but you spoil my fun, master."

Revan clapped the droid on the shoulder. "Keep it civil in the near-future. At least while you're aboard one of my ships."

"Affirmation: Oh, most certainly, master." As Revan turned to walk away, HK-47 called after him. "Contemplation: Master, I believe there is something wrong with your meatbag companion."

Revan looked back. "What might that be?" He knew the droid was talking about Malak. HK-47 hadn't called the man by his real name since activation.

"Conclusion: I believe he means to kill you," HK-47 said without a hint of urgency. "Widened stance, unblinking eyes, gripped fist, pulse rising and adrenaline levels surging to the point of numbness. All of these things a killer does make."

Revan turned back to meet his brother's stare. When he did, there was no avoiding what was to happen between them. It approached as surely as destiny allowed. "What are you doing, Malak?"

"I want your word," Malak grunted. "That when your day comes, I will not be your apprentice. We were born on an even station, Revan. I'll not be towed around like the other lackeys that run around here kissing your boots every chance they get." He beat his chest. "I'm second to no one, Revan! We will conquer this galaxy as one!"

The mood in the docking bay had grown considerably quiet, as everyone around them dropped their crucial tasks to watch the standoff between two giants that was taking place before their eyes. None of them could quite grasp the ramifications of such a fight, and many of them were already breaking down into emotional wrecks because of it.

Revan could feel the despair chilling the room around him. He took it in and fed off of it. The people around him really were connected to him, more than he had anticipated.

He turned his full attention to Malak. Deep within his own mind, he could feel some quantum of pity directed toward his friend's plight, but the rest of him shirked it off. There can be no dividing of ultimate power, or so Naga Sadow had taught him. It is absolute, so must be the one who wields it. He could never grant Malak's request, and he certainly wouldn't have his goals threatened by malcontent.

"You ask of me something that I cannot give you," Revan replied, his hand dipping down toward the lightsaber at his belt. "Something that I _won't_ give you."

Malak opened his hand and his own blade snapped to his grasp. "You wish to become the master of the dark side? And you would have me serve under you?" He shook his head. His eyes burned with the fire of greed and jealousy. "You will not make that decision for me." His blade ignited into a sharpened beam of yellow light. "I will sooner tear out your throat than serve you!"

Revan took up the lightsaber from his belt, though it was not his own. The blade that had glowed the deep blue of the Dantooine sky belonged to someone that he could no longer find. Master Kreia had given him a more suitable blade, one that belonged to the student that she always hoped he'd become.

_If she could only see me now._

Revan ignited the lightsaber, and the beam that hissed forth sparked with a dark crimson light that illuminated its wielder in shades of bloody resolve. "You will try, Brother," he said to his once-friend and ally. "You will try."

Malak kicked forth, drawing his blade behind him. The Force rippled and heaved around the Jedi as the space between them closed to nothing. He arced his arm around, aiming for his opponent's neck, but he was met by the unfamiliar crimson blade. He looked into Revan's eyes and saw only darkness.

Revan forced Malak back, sending him sliding across the durasteel flooring. He was quick to recover, darting from side to side so quickly that he was little more than a blur to the crewmembers that looked on in horror.

The Jedi clashed again and moved into the forms they had developed after years of frontline combat. They dodged around each other, striking furiously at any openings that presented itself between them. None of the attacks connected, the juyo lightsaber form they had both been trained in allowed them to dig deeply into the Force. They were not fighting with their senses any longer; they were giving all of their will over to the Force to guide their hands appropriately.

It was a stalemate for several long minutes.

Revan began to make some headway, sweeping around and striking at areas that Malak was just barely able to deflect. In desperation, Malak jumped and delivered a kick with both feet that thrust the Force into Revan's chest. With a few seconds to spare, Malak focused deeply, drawing the Force against his hand like a massive sling.

Jumping forward in haste, Revan was hit by a wall through the Force that sent him flying through the air, nearly hitting the ceiling of the massive docking bay. The wave subsequently ripped one of the nearby N7 dropships off of its latch and it tumbled across the floor as if it didn't weigh an ounce.

Revan fell through the air and landed on his feet—directly in the path of the tumbling vessel. He walked toward it, without fear, his eyes looking nowhere else but Malak's form in the distance. One of the N7's wing's swung around, threatening to split Revan down the middle but his lightsaber whipped up, parting the wing around him with a loud crack.

Malak's laugh was loud and shook the ground beneath them. "How can you expect to rule a galaxy if you can't even keep your feet on the ground!" He lowered his lightsaber, allowing it to burn into the flooring, creating a small puddle of molten metal. "Give up now, Revan. Swear fealty to me and this needn't continue any longer. I'll give you more than you were ever going to give me. You'll command half my fleet and you'll have first say on all combat strategies. You'll answer to me, and me alone. I won't treat you like the dog you would have me be. I have more mercy than that."

"You're quite right, Malak." Purple lightning sparked forth from Revan's hands: an extension of the rage swelling within his chest. "The time for mercy has long passed." The Force sped him across the docking bay. Time seemed to slow down to nothing as he moved. The crewmembers were caught in mid-breath and the sparks from his hands still hung in the air where he had just stood.

Malak could just barely throw up his defense in time. The impact between the two Jedi threw Malak off balance. He could hardly keep up with his opponent anymore. He was no longer on the offense.

The two combatants cut their way across the docking bay, stepping with calculated accuracy in odd directions and spinning themselves around when they discovered an opening. It was then that Admiral Karath finally arrived, and he joined the rest of the crew in gaping at the fight. He wasn't sure what to do. How does one stop two Jedi from fighting? He could do nothing but stare.

Revan could feel the eyes upon him. This fight would be over soon—he could see it, like the light at the tunnel's end. It was certain. Malak was losing his stamina and his hold on the Force. In panic, he dove back in to a lightsaber form that he hadn't used in years, but it worked; Revan was completely taken off-guard.

It was a form that the two of them were taught at a very early age. One of the first that could be used for more than just amateur sparring. They didn't even have real lightsaber to use; they were still younglings restricted to wooden blades that could do little more than sting an opponent.

Master Vrook would watch over them with as much eagerness as his stoic expression could handle. He would watch each swing carefully and quietly, interrupting only when one of them made a mistake that he could not ignore.

 _"You must keep your arm moving,"_ he would say. _"Do not pause to watch what your opponent will do. Trust in the Force and know where he will strike. Never stop moving. If you stop, you cannot win."_

The old man had made it a game. When could combat ever be such fun? Revan could remember distinctly that both he and Malak would end their sessions with a smile on their faces. They would be happy because, to them, competition made little sense in the grand scheme of things. It was a hindrance on their friendship. A blight on a horizon most bright.

Revan shook the dreams from his mind. The visions enraged him, threatened to chase away the darkness he needed in his heart if he was ever going to succeed in his mission. He struck at those memories with feral abandon, attacking the image of the two sun-kissed youths with smiles of pure joy upon their faces. He wanted to destroy them.

Revan brought his saber up, trailing a red arc around his opponent, and he swung it home. The blade caught Malak at the wrist, severing his fighting arm cleanly. Malak looked to wound and howled loudly at the pain. His hand, still clenching his lightsaber, fell upon the floor with a dull thud.

Revan wasn't finished, the memories still lingered. Malak's screams only brought credence to the verity of his dreams. He spun on his heels, aiming his weapon at his friend's neck... but a part of him hesitated, the part that clung to the memories. His arm pulled back, but far too late.

Malak's bottom jaw fell away from his face. Smoke shot up through his nostrils and the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. His eyes rolled back into his head and he collapse into shock.

The Force grew quiet. Revan stood over the disfigured body of his friend, looking over the damage he had caused. He never thought it would come to this. That dying part of him dearly wished it hadn't.

He stood silently until Karath approached him. "Shall I call a medic?" Karath asked, but that wasn't really the question he'd meant. He had really asked, "Is he to be kept alive?"

Revan stared some more, examining his own emotions just as much as he was examining his friend. "Yes," he whispered. "Do what you can." He turned his back on the scene and departed for his quarters.

The medics were already close at hand. They hovered in a stretcher and carefully rested Malak upon it. As they rushed him to sick bay, they brushed past HK-47, who said to unconscious man, "Observation: It is likely that you'll think twice before attempting that one again." When they were gone behind a hatch, he muttered after him, "Meatbag."

* * *

Revan stood in his quarters, looking out at the stars and ignoring the the green perversion of a planet once known as Malachor V. He had much to think about, but he was disappointed that he had to.

 _This is not how Sith Lords must feel_ , he thought to himself. _They do not feel remorse or pity._ He remembered his friend's broken form. _Or regret..._

He turned to the pile of red armor. The very same armor that had revealed itself to him within the depths of the Trayus Academy of Malachor V. He removed his Jedi robes and took up the armor into his hands.

_A Sith Lord feels no pain._

He slipped the armor over his chest and buckled it at his front. It was light and it moved with the torsion of his body like a second skin.

_A Sith Lord feels no peace or serenity—there is only strength and power._

The gauntlets moved over his hands and connected with the rest of the armor. They breathed and didn't inhibit his motions. It would be very easy to wield his saber with them. The boots came next. They were light, but very strong. With them, he felt like he was hovering on air.

_The dark side of the Force will move through this galaxy like a storm, threatening all who do not yield to it._

He pulled the dark robes about his shoulders. They fell at his feet and the black cape attached to them billowed behind him as he moved about the room.

_Death to all who stand in the way of progression. Damn all to a shallow grave those who would dare resist. Let the galaxy burn if it need be._

Lastly, the crimson helmet. It was dark inside. His eyes were useless to him, but the echoes of the Force seemed to grow louder than ever inside, as if they were trapped inside the helmet with him. After a few moments, he could see more clearly than he ever could before.

There was a knock on the door, and Admiral Karath stepped inside looking as drained as he'd ever been. The man took a bit of surprise at Revan's new armor, but he resisted the urge to make a comment about it.

"Revan," he said. "It seems that Mandalore, the commander of the Mandalorian forces, has somehow survived." He coughed into his fist. "He's being held on the _Duskwind_ , but he wishes to speak to the man who lead our armies to victory."

Revan stepped forward, into the faint light of his quarters so that Karath might look upon new face of the man who would soon be in complete command. He spoke four words, and each one erupted from the helmet with with clarity—a voice far deeper than the one that had once belonged to the Jedi.

_"Bring him to me..."_


	25. The Road and the Departed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The importance you put in a name is misleading, young one. You of all people should remember that."_
> 
> -Master Nemo (3,956 BBY)

The cargo hold of the _Leviathan_ was soon filled with hundreds of Mandalorian prisoners of war. They filed in, hands bound with makeshift manacles and directed into the center of the hold under the watchful eyes of Republic soldiers. On the upper railings, two entire sniper units were perched with laser sights trained on the Neo-Crusaders, in case any sort of riot should ensue. And as an extra precaution, nearly every automated gun turret on the ship was installed on the ceilings, ready to gun down any hint of dissent.

The officers from military intelligence insisted that since Mandalore surrendered on behalf of his entire race, the enemy soldiers were no longer a threat. Any hostile action at this point would be dishonorable in the highest sense among the Mandalorian clans. In fact, should any of the Neo-Crusaders rebel, it was just as likely that some of their own soldiers would silence the uprising before anything came of it.

Admiral Karath wasn't convinced of this. Stories of the Jedi Master Nandrif and his Padawan came to mind immediately. The Mandalorians had been quick to cast aside their tightly-held traditions in that case, so he saw no reason to believe that they wouldn't try the same thing again—if their crusade was, indeed, for the betterment of their race, as they had claimed numerous times before on the battlefield. He couldn't imagine these soldiers casting aside such a mission so easily.

At the front of the group stood Mandalore. The enemy commander was still encased in his heavy suit of black armor, standing with as much dignity as he could afford. The Republic soldiers who had captured him had tried repeatedly to get the commander to remove his helmet, but Mandalore refused. He claimed that he wouldn't do so until he spoke with the man who had defeated his armies.

So it was that Mandalore and his remaining soldiers waited in the cargo bay of the _Leviathan_. They stood at attention, as any soldier would do in the presence of their leader, and they anticipated Jedi Knight Revan's arrival.

They didn't have to wait long.

"Attention!" Admiral Karath called out to his soldiers in the cargo bay, and any that weren't lying prone with sniper rifles raised their arm to salute. "Admiral Revan on the deck!"

Revan strolled inside to stand before the wanting eyes of the Mandalorians that he had seen to their defeat. He pulled the cowl of his black robe down over his head, deflecting the light from his helmeted face, and he wasted no time approaching the commander of the enemy forces, his cape trailing behind him like a second shadow.

"Jedi Knight Revan," Mandalore said with a slight bow of his head. "Never did I imagine us meeting in this way."

Revan's head tilted up. "Of course," he replied, his voice booming through the Force. "You thought it would be the other way around, with your sword at _my_ neck."

"Quite so." Mandalore stood fast. "Would you allow me the honor of looking upon the face of the man who defeated me?"

Revan laughed. "Oh, but you are, Mandalore the Ultimate. You've seen this face before, I can feel it in your thoughts. Every solemn night when you contemplated your losses alone in your room, your mind looked to me. I was but a formless juggernaut, shattering your dreams of an empire like so much glass under my boot.

"I am still that same entity. You could look behind this mask and gaze into my flesh, but nothing would change. You would never be able to comprehend what your eyes might find. You would still find your defeat, and it would be without a name."

Mandalore's hands balled into fists and his head lowered to look down upon the Jedi. "It is a matter of honor."

"Honor is of little use to me."

"Then perhaps we are done with formalities." Mandalore pointed to the lightsaber at Revan's belt. "I challenge you to a duel so that I might regain the honor that you've stolen from me. Though it might mean nothing to you, it is the air that my race breathes and it is the blood that we bleed. I ask you this, as a courtesy between warriors."

Karath stepped forward. He didn't like where this conversation was going. "That is out of the question," he said. "You are defeated, Mandalore! You will not pay for your crimes so easily. You will spend the rest of your life in a Republic penal colony mining duranium out of asteroid cores! You will—" He cut himself short when Revan motioned for him to stop.

"Admiral Karath is right," Revan said to Mandalore. "What makes you think you have a right to honor after the losses you've suffered?"

Mandalore grunted. "I don't expect your admiral to understand, but I know that you do, Revan. My life is forfeit in either case. We both know who will be victorious when our swords meet. To fall on the sword of a nemesis is to balance the galaxy. It is the nature of things. You might call it destiny."

 _Destiny_. The word briefly took Revan back to that field in Dantooine, where Master Kreia would speak of such a thing always. He used to despise the word. The concept of having a set path before him meant that he had no control over his life, his future. He didn't like the idea of that. To him, destiny was a possibility, a goal that was constantly in flux. It was a role in the galaxy that only he could fill, but only if he reached for it. And reach for it he did, but of his own accord.

So, perhaps standing toe to toe with his old nemesis wasn't written, but it was likely that such an encounter was but another barrier on the road to the ultimate role he would be playing. A barrier, much like Malak had been. Without this duel, the Mandalorians could still be a threat, but should they see their leader fall into nothingness, then that would most definitely be that.

Revan laughed, beginning to pace in front of Mandalore. "One more thing before I consider your proposition," he said. "Why did you do all of this? What persuaded the Mandalorians to believe that they could be of consequence in the greater workings of the galaxy?"

Mandalore spoke immediately, as if he had been waiting for that exact question. "We are the race that this galaxy has chosen to become masters of its people! Only we alone have the might to keep this experiment that you call the Republic running in full form! We are..." He went silent for a moment, almost unsure of what he had just said.

"You _were_ ," Revan corrected. "Very past-tense, Mandalore, in this instance. Now, I don't care to hear your victory speech. No doubt, you've practiced it many times, but there's no need for that now. Tell me what I want to know and you'll get your duel."

"It was..." Mandalore seemed on the verge of saying many different things, but he couldn't decide on a one of them. "It was righteous of us, yes? It was our way. Our destiny." He was mumbling to himself now.

"Not anymore," Revan interrupted. "Tell me, Mandalore. Who persuaded you to go to war?"

Mandalore's arms went limp. His head tilted down to his chest. He no longer seemed the warrior he had been when he'd arrived. He looked confused, frightened, even. Awakened and thinking clear thoughts after a nightmare. "It stares at you with blackened eyes," he whispered. "Its voice breaks through any conviction you might have. It tells you to walk and you do so like you've always wanted to. It never sleeps. It never tires. And it rests out there, beyond the rim, waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"I don't know."

"Yes, you do!"

"I don't!"

Revan crossed his arms. "Then what did it want?"

Mandalore shook his head. "You don't understand," he muttered. "It doesn't want anything. It only exists. And as long as it does, there will always be those like me who cannot look away from its gaze. It isn't evil, it just is."

Revan motioned to one of the nearby Republic soldiers standing guard. "Give me your blade, trooper." The soldier nodded and immediately relinquished his weapon. Revan handed the blade to Mandalore. "Will this be suitable?"

Mandalore turned the vibroblade over in his hands. One of his fingers ran across the full tang of the weapon and then along the edge. It cut through the cloth of his glove and drew blood. He nodded solemnly. "It will be enough." He turned to his fellow Neo-Crusaders over his shoulder. "We are defeated, my brothers, but our bloodline is not," he said. "Do what you can. Ensure our race continues. Perhaps one day, somewhere in time, we will have our chance at redemption."

The Mandalorian soldiers didn't respond. Some of them nodded, but none of them spoke. Mandalore addressed the Jedi. "I am ready, Jedi Knight Revan."

Revan's lightsaber ignited, revealing its crimson blade. He turned it over in his hand and it hummed loudly in anticipation. "So be it."

The blades of the two warriors clashed, bringing with it the sound that would mark the beginning of the end of a struggle that had taken many lives, and stripped those still living of years they would never get back. It was the conclusion of a journey that had borne the departure of many things, and the beginning of so much more.

Revan and Mandalore fought before the tired eyes of soldiers who had long desired this moment, in one form or another. It was the giving end they dearly wanted. The merciful blow to a tired beast that had been suffering for some time.

The two combatants met again, their blades connecting high above their heads. Revan made one more swing, catching Mandalore in the neck, sending his head and helmet rolling across the durasteel flooring with a loud clank. The body fell, still gripping the vibroblade. The sound of the Mandalorian leader's heavy form striking the ground caused a great many in the cargo bay to shudder, each of them feeling the full weight of what had just occurred.

This had not been the end of a simple duel. This was the end of the Mandalorian Wars.

* * *

Revan stood on the bridge of the _Leviathan_ , watching the hyperspace distortion stream by the frontal viewports. At his back, his crew toiled with their various tasks. He was contented, more so now than he had ever been before. And he felt anticipation, a feeling bordering on excitement. It was a rare emotion for him to feel, he admitted. There hadn't been a great many things to look forward to from conflict to conflict.

He did what he had to do, and it had been enough, but now he was about to reap the benefits. This was to be _his_ moment. The one that would define his life, and his coming reign.

Yes, he was most definitely excited.

Someone appeared at Revan's side, but he knew who it was. He looked over to find the shell of what had, at one point, been his closest friend in the galaxy. Malak stood there, attempting not to make eye contact. He was dreadfully pale, with sunken eyes and wrinkles that were more suited for someone twice his age. His hand stretched slightly, bringing the mechanical sound of the false limb to Revan's ears. And the man's lower jaw was gone, replaced by a durasteel plate that hid a jumble of devices in his throat that would allow him to speak.

Revan had already been briefed on the details, but he had still been curious as to how his former companion would react to the "changes." So far, he approved with what he saw, especially in Malak's eyes. The man held the listless gaze of a creature that had only just been broken. There was no emotion, only the moment.

"How have the hours treated you?" Revan asked, nonchalantly. If he had felt some regret for what he had done to his old friend, he couldn't find it now.

Malak's brow relaxed. His voice came out in a deep, mechanical moan that seemed more like droidspeak. "I am where I need to be," he said.

"Have you finally come to your senses? Do you understand why things are the way they are?"

Malak thought the question over for a moment. "It is because you will it to be."

"Indeed," Revan agreed. "I am but the guide. Without me, this venture fails. If it could do with two at the forefront, then it would be so, but it cannot be that way. One of us must be the guide and the other must be the enforcer." He peered through his helmet. "Do you understand your role in my plan? _Our_ plan?"

Malak nodded faintly, and then fell to one knee. He bowed his head as low as he could manage and said, "It is my role to be at your side, to carry out your commands, and to ensure to success of this mission." Then he added, flatly, "My master..."

Revan chuckled fiendishly. "Good!" He cackled. "Then rise, my friend, and look upon the destiny that awaits us both. Let this image be the cleansing force that relieves us of the lives we once lived—lives that are no longer necessary." He gripped Malak by the shoulder. "Let us emerge as something different. An entity powerful enough to ensure that the Republic will never again falter because of an indignant weakness like the Jedi Order.

"Let us show the galaxy what the Dark Lords of the Sith can accomplish when given the appropriate leadership. Carry your new title well, _Darth Malak_ , for it will be on the dying breaths of any who stand in the way of progression."

Malak seemed to brighten up, but only just a little. "The galaxy will learn, my lord."

"Indeed it will," Revan exclaimed. "I do hope there are quick learners out there, or else there will be very few left in our wake."

Karath approached the Sith Lords with his hands tucked behind his back, and a new spring in his step that could only come from a man finally getting what he had always wanted. In this case, it was to see to the Republic's revival, and he would be on the front line. "My lord," he said to Revan, "we will be dropping out of hyperspace in a few seconds at the coordinates you've provided."

The _Leviathan_ 's engines whined loudly as they dropped out of lightspeed. The stars around them streaked into fine dots and the space around them became calm and stable. As the rest of the fleet began to burst out of hyperspace around, Revan nearly pressed himself up against the transparisteel to get a better view of his final destination.

The spacestation was enormous, the size of a large moon. It had twin sets of pillars extending out from either side of it, and from its bottom end, it fed upon the energy of the nearby star, the fuel to power whatever its primary purpose happened to be.

Revan laughed loudly at what he saw. It was beautiful, and it was his for the taking. It was the facility to which the dark forces of the galaxy had led him, and he would embrace it without hesitation.

Without mercy.

It had been only days since the Mandalorian Wars had ended with the sound of Mandalore's body striking the ground when the Jedi Civil Wars silently commenced. But unlike the previous conflict, this war began at a whisper. It would not be felt by the Republic for many months, and when that time finally arrived, they would slowly come to the realization that they had already lost.


	26. V: Through Victory, My Chains Are Broken

_First impressions can be absolutely deceiving. You approach this Unknown World from a high approach vector; letting the aqua-tinted shorelines draw you in as you follow the waves to the nearest beach. When you crack the airlock, the first rush of ocean air will nearly knock you back. There is nowhere else in the galaxy where the atmosphere is so clean and untainted. The ozone from your ship's engines will be more noticeable than ever. It will almost sicken you._

_Then, the moment you take your first step onto the white sands of the beach you've landed upon, it hits you. The dark side flows through you like an electrical current. It opens you up to the galaxy. Makes you breathe easier. Lets your emotions channel freely. You are absolutely, in the eyes of the galaxy, detached. You are unraveled. Exposed. Free._

_With a feeling such as this coursing through you—a feeling of such purity—you will then have a true understanding of my motives._

_I have taken life to preserve it elsewhere. I have set worlds aflame to let another endure. But heed my words, reader: this was necessary. There couldn't be anything more necessary. I am trying to center the galaxy just as the Unknown World has centered my life._

_In the workings of the Force, there is the light and there is darkness. Every living soul will eventually gaze into the hearts of both, but only a few will readily admit it. To the Jedi, to even speak of this darkness is to acknowledge weakness—in both the Order and yourself. This is but one contributing factor to the ultimate undoing of the Republic: denial on a galactic scale. Darkness thrives within us all. It is not something that can be banished from the spirit. It is an entity that must exist if the light is to grow stronger, for it cannot thrive unto itself._

_To deny this darkness is to become a derelict. It is to turn your back on the true workings of the galaxy. It is to become what the Jedi Order has devolved into._

_They must be tested. They must be educated. Yet, they must endure._

_They must learn that there is light just as surely as there is dark—and both are necessary to attain a true balance of the Force. And I will continue with my campaign, fanning the flames that I have sparked across the galaxy, even if it's the last breathing Jedi who finally understands the truth._

-Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith

_Rakata and the Unknown World_


	27. Return of the Jedi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"On many long journeys have I gone. And waited, too, for others to return from journeys of their own. Some return; some are broken; some come back so different only their names remain."_
> 
> -Master Yoda (19 BBY)

Jedi Master Kalen had never made it a point to disobey the Council during his many years in the Order. He knew they wouldn't mind his extended detour, and he never turned off his communicator, but he was still uncomfortable stepping outside his bounds. Even after three days on Teksilon Station, he still allowed each moment to pass with mounted tension as if he was seated in front of the Council themselves, being perpetually judged by his decision.

The station was a remnant of the Exar Kun conflict; elliptical in design, and looped around a rogue moon which had long since lost its drift. In its prime, it was used primarily for defensive measures while damaged starships were in dock. In recent decades, it was of little use beyond providing safe berth for traders and explorers, since it was situated where several hyperspace routes intersected.

But to Kalen, it was of some greater significance, if his hunch was any indication. Similar stations all over the Outer Rim were dropping out of contact. No distress signals. No messengers. Just a steady line of outposts going dark for no reason at all—or so it seemed.

Kalen had been watching the activity for nearly a year. He had his suspicions that it was only coincidence, since stations on the Rim were typically in shambles and constantly ending up defunct, anyway. But he was certain this was something different. There was a pattern; he could see it through the Force, but he couldn't see the purpose of it. All he knew was that, if he was correct, Teksilon would be the next facility to go drop off the grid.

How or why it would happen, he didn't know. But he had time to observe—especially since he had traveled all the way out here without informing his peers. If he was in trouble already, it didn't matter how long he was away.

He departed his rented quarters to get something to eat in the nearest mess hall. The station was plenty crowded this time of the year. Merchants were packed into the main corridor that spanned the entire ring, where there was the most foot traffic. He had to step out of the way of a few eager sellers, looking to block his way to inform him of their amazing deals that, surely, he'd never be able to find anywhere else in the galaxy.

The mess hall wasn't as crowded. There were many, many makeshift restaurants throughout Teksilon that served quality food at better deals than what the Republic-manned station had in stock. Though he loved a good meal as much as the next human, he preferred solitude to anything else.

He took his plate of food to one of the empty booths and ate quietly, all the while peering out through the viewport on the wall next to him, wondering just what was transpiring out there in his galaxy.

A large cargo ship came into dock below his view. His booth slightly shuddered when the airlock connected.

From inside his homespun robe, Kalen produced a pocket transcorder. It was a thumb-sized device that recorded his voice and transmitted that file back to his personal terminal back on Coruscant. If he should disappear along with the people of so many other stations, he wanted to ensure a record was left behind.

That was but another fact adding to his anxiousness: he wasn't quite sure if he would be safely leaving this station.

He toggled the transcorder, speaking softly as to not arouse suspicion. He didn't want anyone to be aware of the possible threat, or that he was a Jedi. "I've used my clearance to access the docking manifest of the station again. There are no ships coming into port with a flagged crew, and only a handful that have not docked here before. Everyone here seems to be a regular visitor. Everyone knows everyone."

He hesitated for a moment, thinking out what he wanted to say. "I'm still certain that something is about to happen. I feel it now more than ever. The Force is darkening around me, and I fear that escape will be impossible. I am afraid that I will be here at the first breach of this coming storm, and I will be unable to suppress whatever might come. The files on my terminal are programmed to send these recordings to the Council in two days, should I not return to retrieve them myself.

"At least, should I fall, you will know for certain that this threat is very real. I would advise anyone who hears these recordings to take the appropriate measures. Good luck, and may the Force be with us all."

Kalen didn't know why he said that. He was saying his goodbyes for reasons he couldn't quite grasp. After a moment of reflection, he understood that his spirit knew something that his body was slow to accept. A part of him wanted to sprint to where his starfighter was docked and depart back to Coruscant—to safety.

Another part of him calmly whispered that the time to retreat had long since passed. It was too late for him now.

Kalen folded his hands together, and listened to the low ring of his transcorder as his message was transmitted across the galaxy. He wondered if he should have said more. A proper goodbye.

The lights in the mess hall flickered for a second. Kalen sighed inwardly, closing his eyes to get a final mind's eyes glimpse at all that he would be leaving behind. Though, his teachings told him that he wouldn't be leaving, not really, it was still something he felt he had to do.

His transcorder beep a few times, indicating that the message wasn't able to finish sending. Something was blocking the transmission. That made sense; must have been why those other outposts weren't able to get a distress signal out.

"So it begins," he muttered. Now, he was just curious as to what form this threat would take. Mandalorian rebels? It was possible, but unlikely. Since Revan and Malak defeated the Neo-Crusaders over a year ago, the Mandalorians have stepped aside and accepted whatever punishment the Republic found them worthy of. But what else could it be, then?

Kalen stood from his booth and began to walk the main corridor. An alarm had started to sound through the entire station, and merchants were packing up their wares to avoid losing anything to thieves in the chaos. Things got so crazy that he had to duck down a secondary corridor and take the long way around the station. But he still wasn't sure what he should be looking for.

He was almost to the atrium when the entire station began to shake. Through the Force, he discerned that the decades-old defense systems of Teksilon were clumsily coming to life, probably to fight off whatever had cut off communications.

The atrium was a massive lounge that offered hot drinks and a large dome of transparisteel that allowed a grand view of the stars and the docking stations below. The lights in this room were dimmed. A few people were hiding out in the bigger booths on the far side of the room, past the long, skinny trees that provided a nice feeling of natural ambiance.

But whatever mood the room imparted was soon after destroyed by what Kalen saw outside the dome. The ships dropped out of hyperspace in scores at a time, creating deep concussions that furiously shook the station to its core. Kalen could feel the gravity shift slightly in the midst of the tremors.

When he was finally able to get a good view of the massive fleet, he was able to see hundreds of battleships just within his restricted vista.

 _Yes,_ he thought to himself. _This is what happened to the other stations_.

Despite the fleet's enormity, he couldn't tell who they belonged to. They definitely weren't Mandalorian in design; they were too sleek. He couldn't even begin to guess, they were so alien-looking—and most of them were turning their starboard sides toward Teksilon, which was a common maneuver before an attack.

But the lasers weren't flying, which meant that he could be meeting a boarding party very soon. The Force told him that he wasn't going to be waiting long.

The hatch on the other end of the atrium opened. Kalen offered a reassuring nod towards the few people taking shelter nearby, and called his lightsaber to the palm of his hand.

From the hatch, a contingent of soldiers clad in heavy, chromed armor marched in with blaster rifles trained on the Jedi, but they didn't fire.

Kalen knew he had to be quick to act, lest his hesitation be confused with weakness. "If you are not going to kill me, then I demand a parlay with your commander," he insisted, speaking with a confidence that he wasn't sure was genuine.

The soldier at the front of the group stepped forward, without lowering his weapon. He had a blue mark across the shoulder of his armor, probably to represent a high ranking. He removed his helmet. The brown-haired human had a broad smile across his face.

"Parlay, huh?" the soldier asked, very much amused. "Anything else we can do to make this invasion a bit more comfortable for you?"

Kalen was taken aback by the soldier's snark. "I don't want any trouble. I only want to discuss the situation with your superior. Can we work toward a peaceful resolution here?"

The soldier looked confused. "No peace," he said plainly. "In any case, parlay wouldn't do you any good."

"Why's that?"

"Well, this is the ironic part," the soldier said. "Our leader was actually very insistent that we leave you alive. He wants to speak with you."

"What?" Kalen wasn't sure what to say. How could anyone know he was on the station? His superiors were the only people who would keep tabs on his whereabouts, and not even they were privy to his little sidequest. "May I ask how he knows that I'm here?"

The soldier smiled again. "You're a Jedi," he replied, as if that was the most definitive answer he could provide. "You're like a beacon in the dark to someone like my master."

"Your master?" Kalen asked. "Who are you lot?"

The soldier nodded. "I'm Commander Jaq Rand." He motioned to the rest of his squad. "We are the Sith, kind Jedi."

"Impossible!" Kalen blurted out, incredulous over such a prospect. "Weapons and armor do not make you Sith. They make you mercenaries and murderers."

Jaq shrugged. "We can argue this fact all day if you want, but my master will do a far better job of explaining the state of things than I ever could. I let my weapons do the talking, you see? They don't get stage fright like I do." He turned over his shoulder, hearing someone approach. "Ah, speak of the devil." He stepped aside and stood at attention.

Kalen held his lightsaber out in front of him, but he didn't ignite it. He wanted to show that he wasn't afraid to fight, but he certainly didn't want to provoke an encounter.

The man who entered the room seemed to bend the very Force that surrounded him to his will. He wore a suit of crimson armor covered in a dark black cloak. His face was helmeted, with a darkened visor across where his eyes should have been. He walked right up to Kalen without pause.

The Jedi suddenly felt as though he had been thrown into a suffocating fog. He wanted to cut down this man to make it all stop, but he resisted—and waited.

"Only one?" the armored man asked, sounding slightly perturbed. "Either the Order sees less than they realize or their tactics are deceivingly brilliant."

Kalen found himself helplessly intimidated. "I, ah... I don't understand."

"Are you the only Jedi here to face me? Are you the only one who has come to break my little pattern?"

It took a moment for Kalen to process the question. "The other stations that fell off the grid? Yes... Yes, I'm the one who figured it out."

"The _only_ one?" the man pressed.

"Yes."

The man looked around. "Depressing." His hand swept out to the stars outside the dome. "I would have thought that the Order would be able to see through the rather simple event I created. This was their test, Master Kalen, and you were the only one who succeeded. Well done. Now you will make a choice."

Kalen shifted around where he stood. "I didn't tell you my name."

"You didn't have to," the man snapped. "The truths of the universe can be plainly seen if you look, and names are the simplest of truths." He rubbed his hands together. "Do you know mine?"

Kalen shook his head. "No."

"Is there any name you can call me?"

"Murderer. Villain."

"Good!" The man spread his arms out. "You're on the right track. Murderer and villain—both names, but they don't give you a complete picture of who I am within the context of this galaxy. I've killed many people, some of them have called me evil, sick, terrible—any number of things." He turned to Jaq. "What would you call me, Commander?"

Jaq said, unflinching, "Very red, my lord."

The armored man laughed loudly. "Ha! Another truth! Commander Rand has a knack for those. But if you follow those little names and truths to some epicenter where they connect and interconnect, you'll find me there. I am Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith. This attack has been a test that I put forward to the entire Order. You are the only one who solved it, so now I offer you a proposition—"

"Wait... _Revan_?" Kalen gasped. "Revan Versirath? Jedi Knight of the Order?"

"If the Order has yet to expel me, then I'm sure that title still yet stands—for now, at least."

Kalen was shaken. He was talking to the man who ended the Republic's most hopeless war. The man who conquered the Mandalorians by destroying an entire planet. Who defied the wishes of the Order to lead a band of rogue Jedi against the enemy. Was this man really _that_ Revan?

Kalen had to ask, "What has happened to you? Why are you doing this?"

Revan walked toward the transparisteel dome and ran his gauntlets along its surface. He inspected his fingers afterward, as if looking for dirt. "I do this for one reason," he said. "What does it say about the Order if they cannot see a threat, such as myself, moving through the galaxy with such abandon? It was obviously none too complicated for you to figure out. So how did the rest of your peers, whose very existence hinges on their duty as Keepers of the Peace, remain oblivious? Answer me this."

Kalen wasn't sure what to say. He didn't think he could give Revan an acceptable answer, but he wanted to keep the man talking either way. Perhaps he could still avert this disaster. "The Council has more important thing to worry about these days. A misguided Jedi doesn't rank high on their list after the mess that you left us."

Revan clasped his hands together. "A mess? That's a matter if interpretation, one that I do not wish to go over with ignorant Jedi—yet again. Quit stalling for time that was never there and _answer_ me! Why are the Jedi worth saving if they don't have the capacity to see even the most obvious signs of smoke on the horizon?"

"I don't need to answer for anything! Not me or any other Jedi!" Kalen pointed an accusing finger at Revan. "This institution has fared well for a thousand generations. You've been away at war too long to see that properly."

"The Order is not the infallible institution that you claim it to be. Its ignorance and arrogance have brought this galaxy to its knees more times than any foreign enemy. If I don't do something, if _you_ don't do something, the Republic might not be so lucky next time."

Revan made a fist, holding it out to Kalen. "Join me, Master Kalen. Help us teach the Order that the Jedi were meant for something greater than politics! They were meant to save the very people that give them such authority! Think back to when the Mandalorian Wars were just beginning. Think of the inaction, and how many lives were quieted by bureaucracy! If the dead only knew why they were murdered—for a Jedi's pride."

"You've done your share of killing, too, I think."

"The galaxy is a complicated machine, Master Kalen, and these days, there isn't much worth salvaging."

Kalen stood firm and shook his head once again. "I don't believe that for a moment, Revan," he said. "And if you were a true Knight of the Order, then you would understand that."

Revan stared at Kalen through the dark visor. "Then you will not join me." He sighed. "Very well." He stormed across the room toward the Jedi Master.

"Don't do this, Revan!" Kalen ignited his lightsaber, ready to strike down the Sith Lord if he had to. "Don't!" He swung his saber wide to defend himself. The tip of the hilt scraped along Revan's armor, but did no damage at all. He looked down to find that the activation plate on the handgrip had been toggled to switch off the blade.

Revan had sabotaged his lightsaber through the Force. Kalen had never heard of such an occurrence before. He would have gazed in astonishment for a moment longer but he was being lifted up into the air by his throat. With his airway cut off, he struggled to loosen a bind that wasn't there. He was being held up through the Force.

"This is your last chance, Master Kalen," Revan hissed, holding out his arm in concentration, as if he was physically choking the Jedi. "Die right now as a martyr to a cause which you will soon discover is obsolete, or join me to bring the Jedi Order to justice for the myriad of grievances it has caused throughout the galaxy. Search your feelings, Master Kalen! You know I speak the truth."

Kalen stopped fighting his invisible bindings, and they loosened up enough for him to breathe and talk. He knew what he should say, but it was in harsh conflict with what he wanted to say. His own Master, from so long ago, always told him that if he made it a habit to speak from the heart, then he would be doomed to live an honorable life. So he said what came to mind naturally, casting away procedure.

"In my eyes," he said to Revan, "the Jedi have wandered from the true path. I see it just as plainly as my Master had seen it. We are a collective of saints who can't be bothered to do much more than hide behind some greater code of honor." He had to laugh. "But what good is that code, to self-proclaimed Keepers of the Peace, when it benefits no one else but ourselves?

"Everyday, I've tried to live my life in a way that I could one day be at peace with all that I've done. I have no regrets. I helped this galaxy as much as I could have. But with the Council's backing, I could have done so much more." Kalen looked up at the stars. "Things should change, young Revan. But that is not something for you or I to decide, and certainly not by force. You have my sympathies for all that has happened to you in the war, but I cannot follow you."

Revan loosened his grip through the Force a bit more, to grant the Jedi some comfort. "I will accept your sympathies, Master Kalen, and you have my eternal respect." He sighed aloud. "But I have made my decision. _We_ have made this decision. And mercy never played a part in it." He brought the Jedi closer. "May the Force be with you."

Revan swept his arm toward the dome, sending Kalen careening toward the transparisteel with such force that it shattered on impact. The atrium began to decompress, but the shattered area of the dome was quickly sealed up by a thick durasteel plate that lowered into place—but not fast enough to keep Kalen from being sucked out into space.

He drifted out there in the cold, conscious for all but a few seconds as his blood flash-boiled into ice. In that small instance of time, his adrenaline-fueled mind was able to come to terms with many things. His death. His life. And, most of all, Revan's proposal. There had been a moment back there when he had considered joining the young Jedi Knight's crusade.

But only for a moment, and in his waning wink of life, when the universe seemed to dim and brighten at the same time—he had no regrets.

* * *

Back on the _Leviathan_ , Malak watched the meeting of Revan and Jedi Master Kalen from his view on the bridge. He saw much talking— _much_ more talking than was surely needed. And over one Jedi! At this rate, Revan's campaign against the Order would take decades if they had to stop and get face-time in with each of them.

Malak's groan came out in a humming baritone. He still wasn't used to his new voice modulator; how whenever he spoke, he could feel the distinct sting of electricity at the back of his throat. Or when he swallowed and could always feel a large metallic lump where part of his esophagus had been.

Being without his sword hand was the most difficult aspect of his deformity to get used to. He remembered on many occasions how he would spin his lightsaber mindlessly between his fingers whenever he was bored or anxious. Now, all could do was embarrassingly drop the thing. No one would ever say a word, but he would always sense Revan taking delight in the spectacle.

And he _hated_ Revan for that—for reducing him to some biomechanical derelict of a Jedi who could hardly wield his lightsaber. Revan could have put an end to his suffering at the height of their duel, but he didn't. The man had left him alive so that he would suffer for the duration of his life.

He wished he could choke the life from Revan where he stood, so he could watch his old friend helplessly squirm into nothingness.

But it was not meant to be—not yet. Malak would serve Revan for now, but he knew the day would come when he would have an opportunity to exact his revenge. Not even the all-powerful Revan could keep his guard up forever. It wouldn't be long before he could take up the mantle that he knew he deserved, and it would be true to this rule of two that Revan was so keen on adhering to.

One master. One apprentice. One to harness the power. And one to crave it, certainly.

Down in the domed room of the Teksilon Station, Revan flung his Jedi friend into space.

"Enjoy playing Sith Lord while you can, _brother_ ," Malak muttered down to Revan's crimson figure. "I need only time to ensure that you suffer. Only time."

Malak reached out through the Force and crushed the dead body of Master Kalen into a cloud of ice.


	28. Battle Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"The Force is strong with this one."_
> 
> -Darth Vader (Battle of Yavin)

Bastila Shan's starfighter hovered in the shadow of the lesser moon of Felucia. She was flanked on either side by her two escorts, Republic fighter pilots in CH-14 skyhoppers—a precautionary measure that she wasn't so sure she needed. The battle being waged in Felucia's orbit had no reason to spread this far out, she reminded herself. It was the outpost on the planet's surface that the Sith were after.

It had been nearly nine months since the Jedi Civil Wars had began, with Revan and Malak returning from seemingly nowhere to declare war on the Republic. Even now, Bastila was having trouble accepting this.

When the conflict began to get out of hand, the Council finally voted to retaliate against the Sith. By then, many believed it was far too late. The Sith were everywhere. They had stretched their lines clear across the Rim, and were concentrated at the only places the Republic would be able to strike from.

Revan, having long fought for the Republic, knew exactly where to hit them.

The casualties had mounted quickly, given the state the galaxy had been in since the Mandalorian onslaught. The Sith hardly needed to put forth any effort to ensure that the entire allied counterattack was thwarted. The Republic was fighting on scorched earth with damaged ships and fatigued soldiers. Some Core worlds were already signaling their surrender before they could be attacked, unwilling to sacrifice anymore of their people or resources to another war.

While the Sith could not be bothered to reply to the offer of peace talks, they were very quick to accept all admissions of surrender.

Bastila's focus was hindered when one of the Republic's hammerhead-class warships exploded into a cloud of flame and debris. She could briefly hear the tortured cries of the ship's crew before they suddenly fell silent. She had to fight to regain her connection to the soldiers of the battle.

This was not how she had planned on spending her first days as a Jedi Knight.

 _"We have a status update, Commander Shan_." It was one of Bastila's escorts. They were under orders to inform her of how the battle below was progressing whenever she had a moment outside of concentration. They acted as a proxy to ensure that Bastila wasn't bombarded with reports from the main line.

"You may tell me," Bastila replied through the comm.

_"The lines are breaking at Kway Teow. Command says that if we don't hold the capital, then we'll lose the last of our anti-orbital cannons."_

"Very well." She began to resume focus. "Confirm capital city as primary objective."

_"Roger that."_

Bastila relaxed and regained her connection to the Force. She moved her focus away from the violent clash of the Sith and Republic starships in low orbit and pressed in deeper, far below to the small capital city of Felucia. With the wild, untamed flora and fauna so thick around the planet, it was hard for her to fully touch the minds of her opponents.

The difficulty worried her. If this battle was lost, the Republic would have very few opportunities left to affect a proper counterstrike of this size again.

Though, Bastila wasn't as optimistic as her superiors had been during the briefing of this mission. The Sith were gaining strength fast with every day they weren't repelled. If Felucia wasn't held, the Republic would likely fall within the month.

Once again, she made the mistake of thinking about the Sith warships below, and how Revan was likely on one of them. She saw his face, however briefly, before it disappeared into the dark of her mind.

She couldn't cry. Not now. The Jedi below were counting on her.

* * *

Jaq Rand led his team of Hunters down a large drainage pipe that ran the length of the Jedi's makeshift outpost. He was surprised that even the sewer systems of this planet retained a flowery scent about them. His first thought was whether or not any colonists on this world had to worry about hygiene. His next thought: Was standing with a table value of eighteen against his opponent's seventeen a good choice?

He chose to hit. The next card came up four. Luckily, he had a minus-three in his sidedeck, bringing him back down to nineteen. His opponent hit, too, bringing him up to twenty-three. With nothing left to play, he folded. Jaq won.

"Pure pazaak," he muttered, low enough so that his team didn't hear.

While he shuffled the deck again in his mind, Jaq's final thought was of the more serious and relevant sort. _How effective is dismemberment against a Jedi?_ Now, obviously, without their hands, they're not exactly able to wield a lightsaber in the traditional sense, but he read a few reports to the contrary that bugged him, even now.

A team from a few star systems over encountered a lone Jedi, who ended up losing his hands in the process. In the midst of the team's victory celebrations, the Jedi somehow cut down half the Hunters before being put down.

It was an interesting thought. That meant that some debilitated Jedi could use the Force to keep the fight going with their lightsaber. Jaq found this endlessly intriguing.

_If a Jedi falls in the forest, and no one's around to finish it off, does it keep fighting?_

Jaq knew from firsthand experience that Jedi were hard beasts to kill, but he never thought they would put up _that_ much of a challenge.

Oh, well. It just made the game that much more fun.

The Hunters finally reached the proper hatch beneath the Jedi outpost. Jaq swung his fist into a small circle: an order for his team to get into position.

Jaq spoke his next commands softly. "Fifteen, you're on the hatch. Eighteen is on the ladder behind him. The rest of you follow behind me." Ever since he had been put in charge of his own squad, Jaq made it a point to ensure that personal details were kept at a minimum. Names were exchanged for numbers and after every mission, those numbers were cycled up by one in a range of twenty. Except for Jaq; he was always number One. This gave the Jedi less material to exploit, should their minds be probed.

Jaq never realized just how much power names had over a soldier until they were on their knees crying, practically begging for a Jedi to end their suffering.

Nope, he was never going to have that happen again. Not while he was still in command.

Fifteen moved up the ladder to the hatch. It had a security lock on it, but it must have been basic because he didn't call for Three's assistance in deactivating it.

"We should come up in the maintenance room," Jaq said, checking his gear and ammo. "Let's try to make as little noise as possible." He gave a thumbs-up to Fifteen, and the hatch was promptly opened. The soldier darted upward, with Eighteen close behind to provide support.

A few seconds later, a hand appeared through the hatch to give the "all clear."

"Let's move." Jaq scampered up the ladder and took point in the maintenance room while the rest of his squad moved up. When everyone was inside, they began to make their way through the dimly-lit compound.

The Hunters calmly searched every storeroom while keeping their thoughts and emotions in check. Jaq started up another game of pazaak in his head, starting off with a ten card on the first draw. Higher cards at the beginning of the game made it hard to play off his opponent. "That sucks," he muttered.

At the end of the hallway, they came to a shut door. They couldn't tell what was on the other side, and disturbing the immediate environment around a Jedi always made it aware of their presence. Overreacting and underestimating could land them in hot water.

Seven approached the door, a small thermal charge in his hand. "You want I should blow the door, sir?"

A two card. Jaq's opponent drew a three, giving him an even twenty. Jaq lost. "Dammit," he hissed.

"What was that?" Seven asked.

"Yes, blow the door," Jaq replied, recovering from his loss, "but use a bigger charge. Much bigger. Like..." He held his arms out wide. "That big."

Seven looked slightly confused. "Okay, but... why?"

Jaq pointed to the door. "On the other end of that door is a hallway ten meters long. At the end of that hall is the command center, where a good portion of the Jedi will be waiting. If we don't create a big enough diversion to allow us through that hall, then we'll be cut down." He ran a hand across his own neck. "We need to make it all the way into that room or this isn't going to work."

This didn't seem to put Seven at ease. "How do you know—"

"No arguing," Jaq snapped. "I have a way higher rank than you and I smell prettier regardless of what world I'm on. Now plant those damn explosives."

Seven sheepishly went about planting all of the charges that he had in his pack. The rest of the Hunters were too amused by the whole exchange to allow themselves to press any concerns they might have had. Jaq was grateful for this, because he couldn't explain away his own certainty about these things, even when he tried.

He absolutely _knew_ that there was a hallway on the other side of that door, and that hallway was exactly ten meters long. He also _knew_ that there were exactly five Jedi in the makeshift command center, and they were trying to decide when would be the best time to intervene in the Republic and Sith skirmishes. Their timing would have to be perfect... And how Jaq knew this, he couldn't say.

"Charges are ready, sir," Seven said.

Jaq pointed back toward the nearest storeroom. "Everyone take cover," he ordered. "Get ready to run, and focus on the Jedi that I target. Don't split up."

The Hunters moved back into the storeroom. A few of them stretched their legs and gripped their weapons tightly.

 _This is gonna be a close one_ , Jaq thought.

* * *

Bastila was thrown back out of her meditation. Her head slammed against the transparisteel of her cockpit canopy and her breath was expelled from her lungs. She very nearly went for her lightsaber, but one of her escorts called out to her.

 _"Commander Shan, what's happened?"_ the pilot asked. _"Are you injured?"_

"No," she replied, with very little certainty. "The Jedi on the surface..." She stopped to catch her breath again. "The Jedi. I... I think they're in trouble."

 _"Ma'am, there are likely to be Hunters swarming that planet,"_ he said. _"We can get to them. We can save them, but we need to put the Sith on the defensive in order to do that—and we can't without you."_

"I can't focus... I can hear them..."

_"Commander, you have to try. The situation is no different than when you started. The Jedi and our forces will be defeated if you don't give them that boost in morale. You have to try."_

Bastila was still thoroughly shaken, but she closed her eyes to give the meditation another go. She focused back in on the armies around the capital city, doing her best not to look to where the Jedi were being murdered.

* * *

"This can only end one way, you monster!" Jaq screamed at the top of his lungs. Killing a Jedi was two parts concentration, one part intimidation, and three parts evisceration. Getting the intimidation part of his play down took a lot of energy, which channeled away from his focus on the pazaak game going on in his head.

 _Did I have a five card in my sidedeck, or was it four?_ _Three? No, it was five. Five, fifty-three, two, one, tango are the hyperspace coordinates to Nar Shaddaa. The Shylo Cantina has four serving girls—three Twi'lek and one Human—the combined letters of their names comes out to forty-two..._

He had a good lead-on going now. It would last for a few minutes. Neither the Jedi Master standing five paces away, nor the Padawan who Jaq had by the throat, would be able to find a chink in his mental armor. He might just survive this.

"My blaster, here," Jaq said, producing his pistol for the Master to see, "will cook a hole through your pupils head the size of a tanga fruit if you take another step. And don't even think of using any Force-trickery here. If I don't shoot him, my fellow squadmates here will."

A few of the Hunters broke away from the fight in the command center to fall in at Jaq's side. All of them pointed their blasters at the Padawan in their leader's arms. Though, the Hunters refrained from using their blasters in most cases, they played a big part in the intimidation factor.

The Jedi Master's eyes flicked between his Padawan's captors, frantically trying to figure out his next plan of attack. Since he hadn't made a move yet, Jaq assumed that they had the upper hand for the moment—however brief that moment might be.

"Put down the blade," Jaq demanded of the Jedi. "Let me hear it clank, and you can take the boy elsewhere. You'll both be able to frolic away into exile unharmed. Think it over. You don't want to die here. You don't want to let the boy here die, do you?"

The Master gripped his blade tighter. "I know your reputation," he groaned. "If you were to let the both of us go, it would be a first for your kind."

The Padawan struggled in Jaq's headlock. "Don't do it, Master!" the boy shrieked. "Save yourself, plea—" He was cutoff by his captor's tightening grip.

"This kid left himself wide open for capture," Jaq mused aloud. "He still has much to learn. I mean, this is first year stuff. The two of you could have many long years of corrective training together if you do the right thing. But you had better choose quickly, because this little fight isn't going your way, believe you me." He pointed to the other end of the room, where the other Hunters were beginning to hack away at another Jedi with their Echani vibroblades.

"Just let the boy go!" the Master pleaded. "Take me in his stead. You can have my blade and my life, just let him go."

Jaq rocked his head around. "You see, we're not playing by South System rules, here. It's all or nothing. Either you drop that lightsaber or your young ward gets enlightened by a blaster bolt."

The Master bared his teeth and sadly addressed his Padawan. "I'm sorry..." His lightsaber quivered in his hands for a moment before it began its fall to the ground. "I've... I've done what you've asked." He dropped to his knees and looked up to Jaq with red eyes. "Please, let him go."

Jaq loosened his grip so that the boy could breathe. Then, for reasons even he couldn't explain, he smiled. "Yeah, about that..." He pulled the trigger. An audible moan escaped the boy's throat as his body tensed from the transient moment of pain, and then he flopped onto the ground.

"NO!" The Master ripped the lightsaber up from the floor and lunged toward his Padawan's murderer.

Jaq had planned on this. Even with a seasoned master of the Jedi arts lunging at him at full speed, with weapon held high in the air, he couldn't bring himself to ease his smile. Because with all the Master's attention focused in on Jaq, the Jedi completely forgot about the other Hunters that had surrounded him.

Thirteen managed to get a clear shot with his shock baton, and the Jedi was taken off his feet. In the cloud of adrenaline, and the surprise of finding himself on the floor, the Master could do nothing against the vibroblades being plunged into his chest in wild, animalistic fashion.

"Oh, that's right!" Jaq exclaimed, snapping his fingers. "I was gonna see if he could still fight without his arms."

Thirteen looked up at Jaq, pulling his bloodied Echani blade out of the Jedi's ribs. "You've been reading those news feeds again?"

Jaq shrugged. "A little."

"Those things are bad for you. They get you thinking." Thirteen pointed back toward the Jedi's body. "Want me to get Twenty over here? He might be able to revive it long enough for you to do what you gotta do."

Jaq waved the offer away. "Nah, forget about it. We'll try it some other time. Just don't let me forget, and that's an order."

"Right-ho, One."

"Is that all the Jedi?" He took a quick body count. Exactly five dead Jedi. Not a new record or anything, but a nice number to go towards their average.

Fifteen stepped forward. "That's all of them in this compound. We were able to take a look at their communiques, and it looks like the rest of the group was holed up in an old library on the other end of the city."

"At the other end of the city? Well, that's just awesome," Jaq sighed.

"But!" Fifteen continued happily. "I'm hearing over the comm that the entire area around that library just took a direct hit from one of our ships. Nothing left but ashes, glass and broken dreams."

Jaq nodded in amusement. "Sounds good."

"Is our job done here?" Thirteen asked.

"I don't know. Are there any Jedi left to make dead?"

The entire squad shook their heads.

"Then I guess we're done here." Jaq looked to Fifteen. "What's the situation outside?"

"The Republic lines around the city were looking strong until a few minutes ago. Command expects a full surrender in a moment."

Jaq picked up the lightsaber of the Master they had just killed, turned it over in his hands. "I'd just like to say that I wasn't so sure the Sith were going to win this one. The Republic had something going for them this time."

Eleven snorted. "That's a disturbing lack of confidence, sir."

"Just calling the game how I see it." He tossed the lightsaber over his shoulder. "Get on the comm and see if they can get us an LZ. I want to get off this world and into bed as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!"

"While we wait, I want to give this place one more look before we head out. Eight, Three, and Eleven come with me. The rest of you secure this room. Keep me informed on the pick-up."

"Will do."

Jaq led the three Hunters down an adjoining hallway, where another series of storerooms awaited them. He took things slow, knowing that they were just going through procedure now. Securing the area was the most lax part of any mission. He hated it. By definition, it meant the fun part was over.

"So, how long do you think, sir?" Eleven asked, diligently keeping his eyes forward and finger on the trigger of his rifle.

Jaq looked over. "What do you mean?" He knew exactly what Eleven was asking before the man elaborated.

"With Felucia gone, shouldn't take that long to push the Reps back to Coruscant. How long 'til we plant our flag in the Senate?"

Jaq tried to imagine how the next stages of the invasion would go down, but anything he could say would only be a guess. "A month? Maybe two? I really couldn't say. They'll either scatter to safety or put up one last half-decent fight before we hit Coruscant." He pumped his fist. "Either way, I'm hoping to hammer our flag through the Supreme Chancellor's desk myself. And we'll have our own nice apartments in the Upper Towers by this time next year. "

"You think Lord Revan was serious when he told you that?" Three asked, uncertain. "Did he really tell you anything? I can't believe he'd talk to you out of everyone else in the fleet."

"We're on good terms, Revan and I." Jaq crossed his fingers. "We're like that. I saved him a very long walk back to the main forces back on Malachor, so he saved me from living in a low class domicile."

Eight laughed loudly. "I'll believe that when I see it."

"Believe it. He lets me call him Big Red and everything."

"Yeah, right!" Three exclaimed. "I heard that he tossed one of his guards in the garbage smasher just for thinking bad thoughts about him."

Eleven nodded. "I heard that he took out a hammerhead-class by tossing a starfighter at its bridge. And you're gonna tell me that you can give him a nickname without coming away with a scratch?"

Jaq rolled his eyes. "Okay, don't believe me. I won't pull rank, but I will hire someone to jump you in the barracks."

"Just another day in the life." Eleven sighed and adjusted his helmet. "Well, next time you and Lord Revan get facetime together, you tell him that we'd all like to get assigned someplace nice, like—" His last words were cut short.

Jaq turned to see the heads of his squadmates severed simultaneously. A bright blue blade darted between their necks, then moved for his. He was just barely able to bring up his Echani vibroblade to block the strike that was meant to decapitate him, too.

He turned to face his attacker, as the bodies of his soldiers crumbled to the ground. It was a woman. A Jedi—dark-skinned with radiant curls of blonde hair falling around her shoulders. And her eyes, bright and positively feral. She seemed almost surprised that she wasn't able to claim this last victim.

"Damn," she groaned.

Jaq pushed the lightsaber further away from his neck. "Now, I haven't... disappointed you, have I?"

She replied with another quick swipe at Jaq's abdomen. When her lightsaber was parried, she brought it back around to strike at his shoulder.

"You would have done well," Jaq said, blocking the strike, "to die with the rest of your little coven." He should have never put away the pazaak deck. He didn't know how much of his mind this Jedi might have glanced at, but he didn't want to give her anymore material.

_Sidedeck: three, three, five, minus-two, plus-or-minus five..._

With the game starting up in his head, he began to lead the fight. He pushed the Jedi back into one of the storerooms, blocking every strike and returning with a few of his own with every chance he got. His vibroblade was able to stand up against a lightsaber, but not for long. The edge of his blade would be as dull as a cantina house band if he didn't finish this fight soon.

"That's a clever trick, you know," the Jedi said. "Keeping us out of your mind like that. I don't know of many who can keep up a wall so effectively as yours."

"Keep talking," Jaq replied flatly. "I'll be cutting your throat like you did my comrades very soon." He pushed her against the wall and fought to break his blade free. He could finish her now if he could just get one more shot.

"You really think they didn't deserve it?" she replied, her voice strained. "You really think _you_ don't deserve a similar fate? How many Jedi have you killed since Revan created your kind."

Jaq bared his fangs. "Hundreds," he hissed. "And none of those kills were particularly quick. They were so slow. They felt each stab wound, and I made them last. Let them bleed out if I wasn't short on time."

"You think that's just skill?" The Jedi pushed back with the Force and broke free of the stalemate. "Why do you think Revan favors you so much! Why do you think he's taken every opportunity to challenge you? Why do you think you were the sole-survivor of your squad three different times?"

Jaq hesitated. His mind warped a bit, and the cards on the pazaak table slid off the table. "Stay out of my head. It won't work. Just makes me mad."

"Revan's putting you through the trials, Atton. He knows. You've seen what your superiors do to captured Jedi. The torture. The soulless submission that follows." The Jedi became downtrodden, almost genuinely sad. "You've always suspected you were different—and you are. The Force is strong with you."

"Don't you use that name!" Jaq could hardly believe this Jedi was bringing him down like this. He couldn't focus on anything. The pazaak game in his mind went dark, the cards scattered to the wind. "I'm not Force-sensitive..."

"You are, Atton. You've always known, but you never wanted to accept it. You didn't want to accept that you made the wrong choice joining the Sith. That you, in turn, sealed your own fate." She deactivated her lightsaber. "When you return to your fleet, you'll be subjected to the same torture any captured Jedi receive. You will be broken in the worst way possible. Atton Rand will die, and a Dark Jedi will stand in his place."

The pazaak table caught fire. Jaq's mind was a furnace, fueled by his hatred of the Jedi that had been building for so long. "You damn Jedi..."

_"Cut her down."_

"I'm gonna make you wish your parents never gave you up to the Order." Jaq sprinted forward, gripping the woman by the throat and throwing her to the floor. "This war ends with you."

The Jedi didn't struggle, didn't fight to get out of the Hunter's grip. She just stared into his eyes, without judgment. "You can hear him now, can't you?"

Jaq let his blade hover over the Jedi's arm. "I hear you lot can still put up a fight without some of your limbs."

_"Kill her!"_

"Don't give in to it, Atton. Don't let them destroy the man I see inside you." Tears pooled in the woman's eyes. "This galaxy needs a hero from you. It needs the Jedi you'll become. Please..."

Jaq met the Jedi's eyes, and he saw her sincerity. This wasn't a trick, manipulation, or anything in between. This was that magical, life-changing moment that most people in the universe wish they could see coming. When paths split in two, and from that decision there is no going back. From here, his destiny could either become magnificently bright or infinitely dark.

He finally came to know he made the right decision. He came to believe the Jedi and what she said about his connection to the Force. It made sense from every way he looked at it, and he had once prided himself on his ways of looking at a situation from all sides.

The Jedi was right. If he returned to the Sith fleet, he would be broken and rebuilt into a Dark Jedi to do Revan's bidding without conscience. He didn't want that for himself. He had thought he was special for being so close to the Sith Lord without selling his soul, but he wondered if he didn't already do that at some point long ago.

Indeed, Jaq Rand came to fully believe the Jedi—but not for an hour later. Not until he had thoroughly destroyed the Jedi. His arm was weak. His vibroblade dripped with blood. He looked down at what he had done to that once-beautiful, magnificent woman and screamed his torment into the air. It was as if someone else had been in control of his arm, but the blood was on his hands, on his soul.

He couldn't let this continue. He couldn't let this happen again.

With tears in his eyes, the blade fell from his fingers. He ripped away the Sith armor that dressed his body, and carefully picked up the woman's lightsaber that lay silently on the floor beside its master's formless corpse.

Then, Atton ran—and it would be many, many years before he would stop.

* * *

_"The lines are breaking, Commander Shan!"_ the escort said, breathing heavily. _"We have to get out of here. We have to rejoin the main fleet."_

Bastila's concentration broke. There was little chance of saving what remained of the Republic forces—and absolutely no chance of rescuing the Jedi that had been planetside. All of them seemed to be dead. Though, she could sense one Force user, slowly moving away from Kway Teow to one of the nearby starports.

Perhaps one Jedi yet survived. It would certainly be a miracle.

 _"The Sith fighters are rerouting to our position. We can't protect you against all of them."_ The escort was insistent. _"We have to leave now!"_

Bastila nodded and powered up her fighter. She resisted the urge to hit something; that would be very unlike the Jedi she was supposed to be. But she couldn't deny her frustration and disappointment. Her battle meditation was supposed to change the tide of the fight, but she had failed. She wondered what the Council would say. She wondered if Revan was out there, somewhere, taking delight in her failure.

She was thankful that her escorts couldn't see her cry.


	29. To Live Is to Die: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"A special destiny is not always something joyous, or easy to bear."_
> 
> -Luke Skywalker (28 ABY)

"You must have heard what I've done to your kind across the galaxy. I've given no quarter to your pride or selflessness—that kind of talk doesn't even reach my ears. You know what I offer, and you know what awaits you should that offer be ignored. Are you prepared to die with the values that have only served to lead you here: kneeling before my blade with nothing more than a hollow code of honor to justify your existence?

"Do you not cherish life any more than that? Do you truly see yourself as a sacrificial pawn, destined to be thrown into the fire when your so-called training fails you? Do you not see the fallaciousness of such an act? The Order has failed you, so _you_ must pay the price? How can you justify that? How can you sit here before me and believe such a thing?

"The foundation of the Order is composed of nothing more than pretty words to help you make sense of things that you can never understand. They are frightened animals using fantastical imagery to keep you all swimming in place—under their heel.

"Think what you can do with the remainder of your life. Think what you can accomplish. Surely there is business yet to be finished. I will let you do what you want with this life I've given you. All I ask is that you fight for me when I call: a small pittance compared to the wealth I offer you.

"And what's more, you will be fighting a winning battle, Jedi.

"So what will it be? Die a martyr to a cause that was never truly yours, or live your life free of restrictions? This is your choice, and I assure you, it's the first thing that's ever really belonged to you in your entire life."

The Jedi had since gone pale, shivering beneath the crimson blade as if he was neck-deep in snow. He didn't make eye contact with Darth Revan, he simply continued staring at the floor, stalling for time as if something was soon to save him. But he really was alone; he knew it and Revan certainly knew it.

"I was..." The Jedi said this several times but always trailed off. It took a minute before he could finish. "I was to be a Master soon."

Revan stopped himself from laughing aloud. If he knew anything of the Order, this young Jedi would be waiting a couple more decades if he ever hoped to attain the rank of Master. The man was far too weak for anything but settling verbal arguments—which is why Revan spared him. There was still a chance to salvage the Jedi.

"You don't believe yourself ready?" Revan asked. "Is that what you think?"

"N-n-no!" the Jedi spouted. Revan could hear a slight cut of anger in his voice. It was music to his ears. "I was at the head of my class at the Academy. I've resolved twenty jurisdiction disputes on the Rim. I was ready to become a Master years ago!"

Revan ran a hand across his helmet. He could swear he felt a sensation moving across his face beneath it. "Then why wait? I'm giving you the opportunity right now. Seize that power! Embrace it!"

"I can be a Master?" the Jedi asked, hopeful.

"You can have the mere title if you wish it, but I'm giving you something that your Jedi Masters will never achieve: true power, and unrivaled command over the Force." Revan lowered his blade. "Decide."

The Jedi looked up for the first time. There was no fear, only bitter resolve. "I want it!" he shouted. "I want it all!"

"What do you want, Jedi!" Revan's blade hissed back into the handgrip. "Say it out loud!"

"Power!" the Jedi exclaimed. "Respect! I want this galaxy to know my name!"

Revan cackled into the chamber. "Yes! And you shall have it!" He placed a hand on the Jedi's head. "Rise. Become what you were meant to be. What you _deserve_ to be."

The Jedi stood, excited to the point of shaking. His eyes were wide and there was a hint of a smile on his lips. "I'm ready."

Revan nodded. "Of that, I am glad." His lightsaber plunged into the Jedi's heart in an instant. The man couldn't speak, but his eyes asked, _Why_? "The choice was yours, Jedi, and you came to it far too quickly. I have no need for such weakness in my ranks. That, too, belongs to you." One more flash of the blade and the Jedi was severed in two at the waist.

The Sith guards surrounding the standoff lowered their weapons and stood at attention. "Would you like us to do one more sweep of the facility, my lord?" the commander of the squad asked.

Revan shook his head. "That won't be necessary. There will not be anymore Jedi here." He looked around, his visor fixing in on the small holding cell off in the corner of the control room. "Not for a while, anyway."

"Very good, sir. I'll prep the _Duskwind_ for departure." The commander saluted and led his soldiers away to the airlock.

When Revan was alone, he heard heavy, metallic footsteps leading toward him. HK-47 stepped out from a darkened corridor, holding a heavy blaster rifle in his claws. "Contemplation: Master, I do believe you are beginning to enjoy yourself when it comes to these Jedi interrogations." He canted the rifle up on his shoulder. "It warms my heart."

Revan snickered. "You have no heart."

"So I am told, master. Though, I'm never inclined to believe the words of someone I'm stabbing in the stomach. I suppose you've ended that particular debate."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Revan took one more look around the facility, but not with his eyes. "You've confined all the workers in their barracks?"

HK-47's head spun around to the corridor he had just left. "Confirmation: Yes, I believed it prudent to separate the normal meatbags from the magical ones before you arrived. This is assuming that a Sith Lord cares for a timely assassination."

"Well, you practically had them lined up just outside the airlock. I can't argue with results."

"As well you shouldn't."

Revan's arm motioned toward the airlock. "Will you be heading out on the _Duskwind_?"

HK-47 shook his head. "Negation: I'm afraid that I have one more mission to complete—with your permission, of course, master." He stroked his blaster rifle. "There's a man in Mandalorian space who could cause some annoying problems for the fleet if he continues to breathe"

"Fair enough." Revan held out a hand, and HK shook it—an action he was never programed to do. "Good luck on your mission, Aitch-Kay. Try not to have too much fun."

"Confirmation: True to your orders, master, I will try, but given that a perfect headshot will often make me laugh before I pull the trigger, I might not succeed."

Revan lowered his head. "I don't think I remember inputting the code for excessive amusement in your database."

"Observation: The simplest pleasures in life must be experienced before they can be enjoyed. There's no programming line to translate the humor that comes from watching a target fall to the ground like a wooden plank."

"I don't suppose their would be."

"It'd be a lesser galaxy should such things need to be taught." HK-47 took a step back, bowed lowly, and left the control room through the darkened corridor, leaving Revan standing alone in the control room of the Peragus Mining Facility.

* * *

The night sky was calm and thick with stars. A faint breeze picked up, moving through the Dantooine fields in gentle spirals. It was a beautiful sight, and quiet, too. But Bastila ignored it. Her thoughts rested on the last battle—her loss. Her mind tried to find answers behind the weakness that she showed not two weeks ago. The feeling of death and dejection emanating from the soldiers on the ground and in orbit. It was her mark of shame

She had been alone in every direction for hours, but now she was sensing another presence making its way toward her spot in the middle of nowhere. The closer it got, the more familiar it felt.

Master Sunrider. She stepped through the starlight at a steady, purposeful pace. Her arms were tucked away into her robe, but her bright red hair was not so hidden; it shone almost as brightly as the stars over their head. She sat down in the grass next to Bastila without a word, and they both stared up toward the sky together.

"What are you looking for?" Master Sunrider asked, almost at a whisper.

Bastila wasn't so quick to offer an answer. "Strength," she said, after much delay. "The strength to be what the Order wants me to be."

"Strength?" She looked over at the young Knight. "You feel weak, then?"

"Inconsequential." Bastila looked down at her hands. "I've not held my title for very long. I still have much to learn, but the other Masters seem not to see that." She turned to Sunrider, her eyes pleading. "I'm not ready for this, Master. I'm not ready to fight this war on behalf of the Order. I can't..." Her hands gripped a bunch of grass and she ripped it up from the earth. "I can't do this!"

"Why not?" asked Sunrider, unfazed by the outburst of emotion.

"I wasn't training to be a fighter. I didn't ask to have this ability! I wanted to work in the Archives on Coruscant or some lonely planet somewhere out there where I could pass down the knowledge of the Jedi to others. I wanted to _teach_! I never wanted to..."

Sunrider nodded. "I understand your frustration," she said. "Of all of the Masters here, I was perhaps the most surprised to hear of your proficiency in the ways of battle meditation. I agree, I had always pictured you living out your days educating the masses—but life is never all that predictable."

"This isn't what I wanted!"

"I know, I know." Sunrider put her arm around Bastila's shoulders to calm her. "I am sorry you had to be the one to face this. The truth of the matter is the Republic has an entire galaxy at its disposal, but you are one of the very few that can stem the tide of this invasion."

"Why did it have to be him?" Bastila wondered aloud. "I see his face in my mind. I hear his laughter, his words, his promises. And when I hear of the things that he's done, I just can't accept it. It's the most preposterous thing in the world at that moment. Revan would never do this to his own people. To his old friends... To me..."

"The dark side of the Force has a way of corrupting the spirit of a Jedi in horrible ways. It's our spirit and our willingness to fight for the greater good of the galaxy that allows us to channel the Force, and we respect that which is greater than us." Sunrider shook her head. "But the Sith respect nothing. Power is their only goal, and the very Force that they wield eventually destroys all that they had been, could have been. Of all that Revan was to the galaxy, all that remains is a shell of a man that was once a Jedi Knight, but no longer."

"How can I fight him, Master?" Bastila asked. "How can I destroy the man I..." She trailed off, attempting to choose her words carefully. But eventually, she just stopped caring. "I loved him, Master. I truly did. Every single day after he left, I would listen for word of his victories, his defeats, just waiting for him to return. But he never did."

"And he never will, Bastila," Sunrider explained, "unless you can help us to bring him to justice, and to put his spirit to rest."

Bastila turned her head to wipe away her tears. "I couldn't repel the Sith on Felucia. I couldn't save the Jedi. I couldn't save anyone." She took in a calming breath. "What makes you think I have even the slightest chance stopping Revan?"

Sunrider lowered her head, deep in thought. She uncovered her hands and held them out into the breeze. After a moment, her eyes began to sway back and forth, as if they were looking for something. "What am I seeing?" she asked, suddenly.

Bastila looked over. "What?"

"It's night," Sunrider whispered. "Torches lit. Walls of stone. A single tree in a field of blue grass. I think it's blue, might just be the starlight."

Bastila wasn't sure what the Master was talking about, but something about what she was saying sounded vaguely familiar. "Is it... the courtyard at the Enclave?"

"Ah, yes." Sunrider nodded. "That makes much more sense." She cocked her head. "There's something about this tree. It's special to you for some reason."

"Yes." Bastila cradled her knees and rocked herself back and forth. "That's the tree... The one that Revan..." She groaned, annoyed of her own weakness. "He told me he loved me."

"He kissed you?"

Bastila certainly respected Master Sunrider, but she didn't like her mind being glanced at, no matter who was looking. She laughed off her aggravation. "Yes, Master, I broke the code. I didn't mean for it to go as far as I did, I just—"

Sunrider interrupted. "That's not what I was asking." She made eye contact and spoke slowly. "Did he kiss you, or did you kiss him?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Perhaps nothing." She stood, shrugging. "Perhaps you kissed him and you're cleaving to a romance that might not have been as mutual as your mind has led you to believe. Or _he_ kissed _you_ , and he had another reason for defending this galaxy than pride and avarice."

The words nearly paralyzed Bastila. Hope intermingled with sorrow, sending her thoughts hurdling back to the bright spots of her life, where she always, as if by coincidence, found Revan waiting. Seeing him reminded her of a near-forgotten fantasy that she had come to dream up when their relationship had been at its best.

True, the Archives had always been at the end of her path through Jedi academia, but a life with Revan had always seemed the most honest of destinies. She had convinced herself that one day she would turn her back on the Order, and follow Revan to some quiet corner of the galaxy where they could live together, forever.

A cabin in the woods near some small backwater spaceport, an apartment in the thickest area of Coruscant, a shack by an ocean of Naboo—somewhere beautiful where they could be alone and no one would ever find them.

But when Revan left for the Mandalorian Wars, those dreams had been thoroughly destroyed. She never retained any hope of rebuilding that part of herself, but it almost seemed as though Master Sunrider was offering another chance.

"You think Revan can be saved?" Bastila asked, desperately wanting to hear those magic words. "Can we bring him back?"

Master Sunrider seemed hesitant to speak again. "If he can, there is only a slim chance, Bastila Shan." She began to make her way back through the fields. "And you might be the only one who can accomplish this."

Alone once again, Bastila returned to her thoughts. The wind moved around her body, her neck, and played at the loose braids of her hair. She was no longer looking for strength. Master Sunrider was right; she never needed it in the first place.

The most crippling aspect of her mission was that she couldn't bring herself to fight against the man she once loved: a fact that she had never before been close to accepting. Her resolve strengthened, and she welcomed the next time she would face this Sith Lord.

Bastila no longer wanted to defeat Darth Revan—she wanted to save him.

* * *

"The longer we wait to take Coruscant, the greater the chance of failed surprise." Admiral Karath rotated the holoprojection of the Galactic Center so that Revan and Captain Morris could see what the Sith fleet would be up against. "The planet has too many barriers. The orbital mirrors. The moons. The Triple Zero traffic that, more or less, perpetually spills out of the trade routes. We'd be lucky if we don't lose half of our number to debris."

"And the remnants of the Republic fleet will be clouding the orbit," Captain Lin Morris added. "We'll have to be very careful of where we position our ships and extra careful of the orders that we give out. No group commands—individual orders to individual ships."

Revan shook his head. "We don't have the resources to spare on such an endeavor. Commanding each ship individually is out of the question."

"With the Star Forge fully operational, we certainly have plenty of ships," Karath mused.

"But no one to operate them, Admiral."

"I'm sure if we attack a few more worlds, it might make a difference. The last census put Taris at a population of just over six billion. Certainly we could harvest more than enough personnel to take command of the empty ships. Could put all of our worries to rest before we take Coruscant. The numbers would be on our side—dramatically so."

"No," Revan replied. "Taris must be spared. For now, at least."

"My lord, if I might convince you to the contrary—"

"You may not." Revan leaned forward, bringing his cowled helmet into the green light of the holoprojector. "We'll have to make do with what we have. Achieving surprise is a priority. Figuring our how we'll navigate the traffic around the planet comes second. If we don't catch them unaware, then we'll have absolutely nothing to work with."

"And what if we wait, my lord?" Karath asked. "Let us continue our campaign on the Rim. Another year of these attacks and we'll have more soldiers, resources and ships than we'll know what to do with. Coruscant will be powerless to stop us."

Captain Morris nodded in agreement. "It would be our best option. Right now, one mistake in how we coordinate the invasion could bring down this entire fleet. Another year of preparation and planning could all but ensure victory."

Revan pounded his fist on the console, causing the image of Coruscant to momentarily disappear into static. "This is not up for debate!" he roared. "This attack _will_ happen, whether we figure out a way around the obstacles or not. Another year of attacks will only bring concentrated rebellion, which is more dangerous than anything else to an emerging empire." He shook his head again. "No, we will proceed while they are disorganized, crippled, and frightened. This is what we'll do."

Both Karath and Morris lowered their heads in submission.

"Keep looking over the star charts," Revan continued. "See if we can use the Corellian Run and the Perlemian Trade Route as points of entry. The traffic through there will be more controlled and thinned out, since we've already captured most of the more popular trade worlds. They've been used for transporting refugees more than anything else of late."

Karath bowed. "It will be done, my lord."

Revan turned away, his black cape whipping around behind him as he left the bridge. He was almost to the lift when Malak approached him from another hallway.

"Karath's plan is a sound one, Revan," Malak synth-voice grunted. "Another year of crippling the Republic's outlying star systems could force Coruscant to surrender before we even arrive."

"In case you weren't eavesdropping well enough, you would have heard that my decision has been made," Revan snapped, without turning to face his apprentice. "There is no need to destroy everything tethered to the Republic. Some worlds must be intact by the time we are in a position to rule over them."

Malak groaned. "This is pointless." His fists tightened. "We have a chance to bring down the Republic. With the power of the Star Forge behind us, there is not a chance we can lose this war."

"You still do not see as I see." As a visible threat, Revan's hand fell toward his lightsaber. "You still see this as a war, Malak. You think the Republic must be wiped out before our success is achieved. But I did not begin this campaign to pulverize the galaxy into oblivion. All of this is to ensure the galaxy continues on long after you and I are gone. And the Sith are the only force that can ensure this."

"Ha! Save the galaxy, Revan?" Malak seemed entertained beyond words. It took a moment for him to regain his composure. "These soldiers aren't fighting alongside you because they want to burn one world to save another. These soldiers want revenge on the Republic—on the Jedi. We were all sent to fight a pointless war that killed far more than it should have. I believe the last thing they want to do is allow the galaxy to keep existing in its current form."

"That decision is not up to them." Revan gripped his lightsaber. "I've never kept my plans hidden, and I've never led my soldiers astray. They will fight for me when I call them or they will die for their dissent."

Malak recognized the challenge Revan was posing and tentatively relaxed. "We will of course do exactly as you command, my master."

Revan stood watching, his gaze tunneling through the very Force that surrounded Malak. When he was satisfied that his point had been made, he took the last few steps into the ship's lift. "Don't make me regret keeping you alive, _brother_." The doors closed shut around him.

Malak remained on the bridge, arms crossed in contemplation. The more he thought about the coming battle, the more his cheeks tensed, as it was the closest he could ever come to smiling.


	30. To Live Is to Die: Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"There is something that the Council may never understand. That perhaps Revan never fell. The difference between a fall and a sacrifice is sometimes difficult, but I feel that Revan understood that difference, more than anyone knew. The galaxy would have fallen if Revan had not gone to war. Perhaps he became the dark lord out of necessity, to prevent a greater evil."_
> 
> -Kreia (3,951 BBY)

The Republic battleship, disabled and lost to Coruscant's gravitational pull, slammed into one of the planet's many orbital mirrors. The structure shattered into a cloud of plasma and transparisteel that expanded outward like a supernova, scattering starlight. Escape pods burst forth from the ship's bulkhead, but any that weren't destroyed from striking debris from the mirror were shot down by the advancing Sith fleet.

The battle had only been on for an hour, and already the Republic lines were breaking. A defeat for the Galactic Center seemed immediate if the remaining allied ships couldn't maintain their defenses. Anti-orbital cannons, starfighters, and boarding parties were all working in their favor, but it wouldn't be enough if the Sith managed to unload their invasion forces upon the planet.

If that was allowed to happen—it was over.

But Bastila couldn't stand by and let the Republic fall without a decent fight. If Revan insisted on attacking while the galaxy was still crippled from the last great war, she was going to make him work for that victory, or die in the process.

The Sith's numbers were overwhelming, but the Republic had the home advantage. The defenses surrounding Coruscant were some of the best in the galaxy, and civilian militia was becoming a greater threat by the minute as millions of citizens and refugees volunteered for service.

Yes, the Sith had numbers, but the Republic had the backing spirit of a cornered predator. They wouldn't be silenced so easily. Bastila would make sure of that.

Her N7 dropship cut through the fray that engulfed the high orbit of the planet. Drifting cannon flak clanked against the hull like rain and blaster fire lit up the cockpit in brilliant shades of red. Concussions from decompressing ships rocked the N7 off course several times and the pilot was constantly dodging bodies floating out in the dark, but it was difficult not to hit one every few seconds.

They had been flying like this since the battle began, and Revan's flagship, the _Duskwind_ , was still nowhere in sight. She had every ship in the Republic fleet on alert to keep her informed, but there had been no word from any of them yet.

"Our odds of getting caught in crossfire are very good right now, ma'am," the pilot said, his voice strained. "We can't keep flying like this forever."

"We don't have much of a choice, do we?" Bastila shouted over the loud, concussive strikes against the hull. "Keep the pattern—" She looked to the copilot. "—and pay attention to the comm. The second we find the _Duskwind_ , I want us en-route one second later."

"Aye, ma'am," the pilots replied.

Bastila returned to the main compartment, where sixty-six Jedi of varied races stood ready and waiting. There wasn't a feeling of hesitancy or pang of fear from any of them. To these Jedi, this was the battle they had been born to fight.

"Any word yet, ma'am?" one of them asked.

"None yet, but be on your guard. We could be landing any moment now."

* * *

Darth Revan and Captain Lin Morris stood before the holograms of Admiral Karath and Malak. They had seen the entire fleet off into Coruscant's orbit, and now was the moment for the flagships to follow their lead.

"Our time has come, Admiral," Revan said. "With Coruscant under Sith control, we can begin the process of rebuilding the galaxy in our image. Let us march our armies through the war that will define the galaxy—the war to end all wars."

Karath's grin was evident, even through the static of the hologram. _"We have Triple Zero keyed into the guidance computer. On your command, we will join the fray."_

"Excellent." Revan clasped his hands together. "The command is given, my friend."

With a nod, Karath replied, _"Understood, my lord,"_ and the hologram disappeared into nothingness.

* * *

_"This is the battleship_ Tykon Roga _transmitting on all channels! We have sighted the_ Duskwind _and the_ Leviathan _entering Coruscanti airspace! Cannot pursue—I repeat—cannot pursue!"_ The panickedvoice cracked through the cockpit of the N7. The sound of it brought Bastila running back up from the main compartment. _"Mayday! Mayday!"_

Bastila took up the comm. " _Tykon Roga_ , this is Jedi Knight Bastila Shan. I need you to relay the coordinate of the sighting."

_"A Jedi? Thank the stars! We need help—we've lost all power and our life support systems are failing. I can't... see out the front viewport. I think we're drifting toward Coruscant's atmosphere."_

" _Tykon Roga_ ," Bastila repeated, ignoring the cry for help, "this is of the utmost importance. This N7 needs those coordinates or we can't end this battle."

The man's voice began to fade in and out of static. _"Oh no... please, our drift is increas... indows are lighting... mperature's rising on the bridge. We're breaking through the upper atmosphere! Please, by the Force, save us!"_

"I need the coordinates, _Tykon Roga_!" Bastila was almost shouting now. "Focus, soldier!"

 _"Ah... I..."_ His voice faded out again, to the Jedi's horror, but it clicked back in a moment later. _"Near high orbit. Coordinates are one-zero-eight-four, right ascension eight-one-eight. The two flagships are running parallel to each other near the fringe the battle."_

The pilot of the N7 was already changing course. Bastila breathed a sigh of relief, but it wasn't easy with the man still awaiting her response on the other end of the comm. She wished she could think of something suitable to say. Something that would have made everything all right. But nothing came to mind, so she said what she believed any other member of the Order would say.

"Thank you, _Tykon Roga_ ," she recited. "May the Force be with you."

They were nearing the flagships already. Bastila knew this because of the bright orange fireball that appeared over Coruscant, and how the man on the comm subsequently began screaming in agony as his ship burned away into ash.

The pilot was quick to shut off the transmission.

* * *

Malak stood on the bridge of the _Leviathan_ , looking out over the battle for Coruscant as it raged on. It was a fight that surrounded the massive planet like a ring of fire, leading out into the distance before disappearing behind the bright blue Galactic Center.

He certainly appreciated the scope of Revan's planning. He even admired his _master's_ solution to the problem of invading the system while keeping the Sith fleet's ranks strong. The ring of ships was like a sentient organism that divided when they would otherwise be conquered. If a ship was destroyed, the entire ring would fan out to a point to seal the gap. If those gaps became to big, the ring would separate into smaller sections, and the process would be repeated.

It discouraged scattering and, most of all, freethinking. It was the will of one mind that controlled this fleet, not many.

Indeed, it was a brilliant plan. Malak had never once questioned his old comrade's intelligence or ability—he merely questioned the goal. Revan had taken command as Lord of the Sith, not to exact a greater punishment upon the Jedi, but to _educate_ them. His "convert or die" policy was aggravating to the highest degree. Malak hadn't slept in weeks because of how it bothered him so.

He couldn't believe that the Sith were ever about catering to the greater potential of an Order that had long since become useless. Revan was fighting a cause for the insane, and Malak wasn't about to let the deaths of Malachor Five, and other worlds ruined by the Mandalorian onslaught, go unavenged.

Neither the Jedi, nor the Republic needed to be taught a lesson. They needed to be extinguished for their crimes—for letting the Mandalorian threat build up for so long without a word to say for it. They saw this—all of this—coming from a far, but did nothing.

Malak was completely ready to show the Republic the penalty for such ignorance. There was only one obstacle in his way...

 _"Admiral Karath."_ Revan's hologram appeared on the bridge.

Karath stood at attention before the image. "What are your orders, my lord?"

 _"The battle is unfolding as we'd predicted—the Republic lines are shattering. Order all ranks to advance into low orbit, and prepare the infantry for an immediate drop planetside."_ Revan raised his fist. _"The light of victory has arrived."_

"Indeed it has. I'll give the order straight away. Shall I wait to hear from you again before signaling the drop?"

Revan thought it over. The pause took Malak by surprise, who was watching the exchange from the other side of the hall.

 _"There is no need for that, Admiral. Begin the invasion when we're within range."_ Revan turned away. _"I may have visitors very soon. Something is coming. A presence I have not felt since..."_

"Most likely Jedi," Karath assumed. "Will you need any support?"

_"No need for that. Keep to the mission, Admiral. That is all."_

"It will be done."

Revan's image faded, and when he was sure the comms were closed, Malak approached the general. "Now is the time, Karath," he said. "We have been given this chance to take back what's ours. The Force wills it so."

Admiral Karath shook his head. "I'm uncomfortable with this, Malak." He scratched his chin. "I fully agree with you about what this war has become, without question. But I can't be certain that we can so easily remove Revan from power. If we don't succeed, there's not much of a chance of surviving."

Malak's hands gripped into fists. "You doubt my power?"

"Not at all, Darth Malak. To elaborate, I doubt my own chances of survival. I am certainly not as skilled with a lightsaber as you are. There won't be much I could do."

"Do not start worrying about your life just yet. Place your trust in me, and we will have the Republic in throes of regret by the week's end. The only price is Revan's life." Malak took a step forward. "I should like to see Telos burn first..."

* * *

The Jedi strike team poured out of the N7 and into the _Duskwind's_ hangar bay. With the assistance of nearby fighters, they were able to destabilize the flagship's shields until they could pass through unabated. But their attack was by no means a surprise.

Sith soldiers lined the deck, firing upon the Jedi as they sprinted out to engage their enemy. The Jedi were deep in concentration, and sliced into the infantry lines with devastating results. Armored corpses were flung out through the air shields, and catwalks that held entire units of soldiers were pulled to the ground by way of the Force.

The deck was cleared in minutes, but there was no time to celebrate.

"Let's get to this," Bastila said to the team. "Group Two, secure the lower decks and plant the charges. Once you're done, make your way to the bridge to assist Group One and I in capturing Revan."

One of the Knights spoke up. "Are you sure _capture_ is wise, ma'am? It might serve to complicate matters."

Bastila nodded quickly. "I'm aware of this, and I want none of you to risk your lives on a potentially fruitless endeavor." In her mind, she chased away an image of Revan lying dead in front of her. "But it's not our way to assassinate without a word for it. We will try to bring Revan back to our side, or we will kill him in the interest of self-defense."

The Jedi strike team bought into the plan, but all Bastila could think about was how blatantly she was working a loophole in her favor. She knew that the Jedi, at large, were not strangers to assassination if it worked for the greater good of the Republic, and the galaxy proper—both of which were in danger of falling to the Sith.

But she was determined to bring Revan back. If there was even the slightest chance...

"You have your orders," she said with finality. "Let's move. The Force fights with us!"

The strike team split up, with Bastila leading thirty-three Jedi down the main causeway. They were held up only once by a small unit of Sith infantry, who were making their way toward the landing bay to assist in defending the ship. They were dispatched with ease, and the rest of the sprint became dead calm.

There were no alarms. No droids running around performing maintenance. And, most astounding of all, no soldiers or Dark Jedi waiting to block their path to the ship's lift.

It was as if the pathway had been cleared. Bastila could already feel something watching her: eyes in the shadows, breath across her neck, a cold touch running down her spine. Something in her mind whispered that she was going to be dead in a few minutes' time.

Her running pace broke, but she didn't stop. Darth Revan frightened her down into her very spirit, but it was the man behind the Sith Lord that kept her going.

The Jedi reached the lift and stepped inside. It immediately started moving upwards toward the bridge. Everyone placed their thumbs on the activation plates of their lightsabers. They were only seconds away from the fight that would determine if the Republic fell this day. And there was no Plan B if they failed.

The lift stopped. The doors opened. Bastila looked up and into the bridge.

Darth Revan stood still as stone at the end of the walkway. His hand was wrapped around the lightsaber that had claimed the lives of hundreds, thousands— _millions_ at Malachor. His bridge crew continued attending to their stations, as if they hadn't noticed the Jedi. And the Sith Lord just stood there. No immediate attack. No threats. Nothing.

He had been waiting—patiently.

Bastila was shaking when she took her first steps out of the lift.

The thirty-three Jedi moved forward, taking measured steps and watching Darth Revan closely for any hint of a strike. There was none. They were only a few meters away when Bastila held up the group.

She tried to speak a few times, but her throat was terribly dry. Then, some horrible memory from long ago was recalled into her mind. She was sitting with Revan, in the Archives of the Dantooine Enclave, and her voice hitched. She had gotten frustrated. Revan had laughed, and laughed, and laughed...

And that laughter bled into reality, and Bastila realized that the Sith Lord was cackling somewhere behind his helmet. The deep, dark voice that reached Bastila's ears sounded nothing like the Revan she had once known. This voice sounded monstrous, and it tore through the Force around her.

"There is nothing more predictable in this galaxy than a Jedi backed into a corner," Darth Revan said. "The Republic is moments from collapse, and they send the one person I had any connection to in my former life. I applaud you, Miss Shan, you have fulfilled the incompetent promise of the Order."

The Sith Lord's taunting renewed Bastila's strength—or maybe it was just that she had always hated being talked down to by Revan. It had been infuriating in the past, and all too familiar here. She didn't dwell on that thought for more than a second, though.

"I'm not here because the Council sent me," Bastila replied. "We're here of our own accord—to put a stop to this. You cannot win, Revan."

"Don't hide behind the values you never had. I could always count on you to at least be true to your ambitions. You were a teacher, not a fighter." Revan made his first move. He began pacing across the walkway in front of the Jedi, his boots clanking against the flooring and his black cape dragging behind him.

Bastila's stomach lurched. The way the Sith Lord spoke with such familiarity made the connection to the Revan she had once known all too real. Her mind still denied her the truth. "This was my choice... Revan."

Revan laughed once more under his breath, amused by the response. "You aren't going to tell me that it wasn't one of your many Masters who convinced you to take on this task? Don't _lie_ to me, Bastila!" His roar shook the very flooring the Jedi stood upon. "You always thought with your head, but acted with your heart. You're telling me that after hearing of the things I've done to the Mandalorians, to the Republic, to your own Jedi that you held on to that slim chance of saving me? The woman I knew didn't play such games."

The Jedi looked to Bastila, confused by the words being exchanged, but all they found was a woman with tears in her eyes. "Don't do this, Revan," she pleaded. "Don't do this to me."

"I meant everything I ever said to you, for better or worse. Our love can help shape this galaxy, Bastila." Revan's arm swept out toward the viewports of the bridge. "Look how easily the mighty Republic was taken. Look how predictable this institution has become. They can't even save their own, and the Jedi are powerless to do anything about it. They are _weak_! What right do they have to claim the galaxy?"

Revan held out a hand to Bastila. "Join me, Bastila! You know what I've said is true. How many times did you consider following me to the Mandalorian Wars? How many times did you curse the Order for deeming our love forbidden?" His head tilted slightly. "What future did you dream up for us when we would finally be reunited?"

Bastila couldn't answer. She was practically frozen in place, unblinking, afraid.

Afraid that Revan might be telling the truth.

"We can still be together, Bastila," Revan continued, his voice gentler, cleaner. Practically the voice that Bastila remembered. "This is the moment you were waiting for. The only difference is that it'll be better than you ever imagined. Our future together, forever, will be infinitely bright." He offered his hand again.

And the one fact that would remain with Bastila for years to come, was that if one of the Jedi of her squad hadn't drawn his lightsaber like he did—she would have taken Revan's hand.

"Your corruption ends now!" the Jedi shouted, and lunged toward the Sith Lord.

Revan hardly made a move. His hand swept out, and the attacking Jedi was thrown across the room. He finally landed clear over by the lift at the other end of the bridge—in pieces.

"This is not what you perceive it to be," Revan said, drinking in the fear that was beginning to rise within the group of Jedi. "This battle was never in your favor. I am no man to be captured or killed. _I am Lord!_ " He made a fist. The Force snapped shut around the necks of several Jedi in the group. With one motion, sixteen Jedi fell to the ground with broken spines.

Revan moved toward Bastila and the remaining Jedi, all of whom ignited their lightsabers. "You were never in control," he told them. "I see everything— _know_ everything." His own crimson lightsaber hissed into existence. He darted across the room. Two more Jedi fell with gashes in their chest.

Bastila held her blade out in front of her, knowing there was nothing she could do.

"It was I who defeated the Mandalorians, and not just at Malachor! At Onderon! At Manaan! At Tattooine!" With every point he made, another Jedi was felled. They were down to eleven. "I was the one who unlocked the secrets of the Unknown World! It was I who found the Star Forge!" His blade came around to block the combined attacks of three Jedi. He parried, and severed their heads with one sweep. Eight remained.

Bastila worked up the nerve and swung her blade at Revan's shoulder, hoping to wound him, but the Sith Lord was too fast. She was pushed back by the Force and almost lost her balance.

"You do not see as I see!" Revan howled. "There is more at work in this galaxy than you will ever comprehend. I've looked into it. I've seen the darkness that approaches from beyond the Rim. Only I know how to stop it!"

The words of Revan no longer made any more sense to Bastila. In any case, she was coming to accept her fate. It was clear that she would not survive this encounter. A few more strikes later, she and two other Jedi were all that remained.

"I alone will save this galaxy," Revan hissed. "I will save it from what comes to kill us all, and from the Jedi who would have otherwise placed us directly in its path. I will bring the peace that the Order could never provide!" He plunged his lightsaber into the chest of one of the last Jedi. "Pathetic." He swept the blade upward, cutting a path up from the man's gut and out through his skull.

One Jedi remained, and with thirty-two of his comrades lying dead around him, he finally accepted his fate. He solemnly held his lightsaber up in front of his face in defeat.

"How quaint." Revan nodded to the Jedi before picking him up and flinging him up with the Force at the ceiling. The man cried out in pain when he struck the durasteel paneling. Revan continued pressing him against the ceiling harder, and harder, drawing on the pain and fear emanating from the man. When he'd had enough of the spectacle, he tossed his lightsaber upward, killing the Jedi and pinning him to the panel.

Revan looked down at his gauntlets, adjusted them, and moved toward Bastila. "Is this how you imagined your mission would unfold? With you standing here shaking before me with all of your friends dead?"

Bastila didn't answer, but she didn't put away her lightsaber.

"You tried, and I give you credit for that. It's more than anyone else in this galaxy would have done. But there are only two ways we can proceed from here, girl." Revan held up two fingers. "The first way would be the easiest, and the option that I would greatly prefer. From here, we leave. We go somewhere far, far away to live out our lives. Where our love will be the only rule of law, and where we could both be at peace.

"The second is that I treat you like any other Jedi that I've seen potential in—and with your proficiency in battle meditation, you certainly have potential." Bastila's eyes went wide at this. Revan continued. "Yes, don't think I haven't noticed. You'd make a fine Dark Jedi, but that would obviously be a waste akin to killing an Angel."

Revan knelt down in front of Bastila. She still couldn't find his eyes.

"This is your chance," Revan said. "To make your decision..." He suddenly jerked his head, distracted by something. "Captain Morris, what's happening!"

Just then, alarms finally rang out through the bridge. The crew began running around from console to console in a panic.

"It's the _Leviathan_ , my lord!" Captain Morris replied. "They've locked on to us. They're going to fire!"

Bastila looked back to Revan, and she was shocked to find the Sith Lord tense up to the point of shaking. His fists clenched. Nearby circuitry panels sparked up. The entire ship seemed to shake under the man's anger.

She found his eyes through the visor. They were as red and as bright as embers.

 _"MALAK!"_ Revan roared just as the first cannon strikes from the _Leviathan_ commenced. He stormed across the walkway to the nearest viewport and got the usurper's flagship in his sights. "I'll kill you!" he shouted at the ship. "I'll kill you all!"

Revan reached out through the Force. The _Duskwind_ began to shake again. The flooring beneath the Sith Lord's feet warped and the transparisteel of the viewport began to curve outward like a bubble. And, from where she was kneeling, Bastila could see the _Leviathan_ begin to drift ominously toward Coruscant's atmosphere.

* * *

The helmsman of the _Leviathan_ threw up his hands, unsure of what to do. "I've lost all control, sir! I-I-I don't... damn it! I don't know what's going on! We're on a collision course with the planet!"

"Divert all power to the main thrusters!" Karath ordered. "Keep a firing solution on the _Duskwind_ and continue the attack when we've regained control."

"Belay that!" Malak demanded. "This is Revan's doing. If we stop the attack he'll crush us."

Karath was confounded. "There's no way! No Jedi could ever bring down an entire warship by himself."

"Have you learned nothing, Admiral! The power of a mortal war machine is insignificant compared to the power of the Force!" He slammed his fist against the wall, making a very defined dent. "Keep firing on that ship or we're all dead!"

* * *

The attack continued, destroying much of the _Duskwind_ and causing uncontrollable decompressions throughout the ship. Stability was compromised and the artificial gravity drives fluctuated, causing the ship to slowly tear itself apart.

And as this happened, a huge chunk of the ceiling on the bridge was torn loose, and the massive piece of durasteel fell—down toward Bastila. She saw it coming. She even had time enough to save herself, but she didn't allow herself to run. She was going to die either way, be it by Revan's hands or beneath the falling debris with her dignity intact.

At least, she wouldn't have to see Revan fully give in to the darkness he had become infected with. She didn't want that to be her last memory. So she closed her eyes and awaited the end.

She waited... and waited... and nothing happened.

She forced herself to look up, and what she found filled her with both surprise and hope. The debris that was meant to kill her was hovering less than a meter over her head. She turned around.

Revan was facing her, arms angled toward the durasteel slab and the Force bending to his will. With one strong push, he threw the debris away, allowing it to land harmlessly on the emptied walkway of the bridge.

Bastila stared in wonder at her savior, and Revan looked back at her. Somewhere in her mind, she could finally see his eyes.

Revan turned back to the viewport, but by then the _Leviathan_ had regained its firing solution and the bridge was pummeled by cannon fire. The _Duskwind's_ electrical system shorted out, releasing a blinding wave of energy that moved through the front of the room, vaporizing the captain and crew.

Bastila held up her arm to shield herself from the light, and after it dissipated, she found Revan lying on the ground—the Force growing quiet around him.

"Revan!" Bastila ran to the Sith Lord's side, and when she was close enough to touch him, she knew his injuries had been too great. "I know you're in there. I saw you. I know I saw you." She placed her hands on Revan's chestplate. "You can't die, Revan. Please, I don't... I can't..." Her words faded, and only tears remained.

With Darth Revan dead in her arms, all she could do was reach into memory. She went back to their tree in the courtyard of the Dantooine Enclave, where Revan had professed his love to her before the galaxy. She could feel the grass beneath her feet and the chill of the nightly air, but not the warmth that Revan's presence had brought.

Bastila cried, standing underneath that tree, wishing for the simpler times of years gone by. And she hopelessly called out to Revan, lamenting over the life that she now knew was never meant to be—

Until, at long last... he found her.

Revan stood next to her under the tree, as youthful and unbroken as the day they parted ways. He pushed his hair back as the breeze moved around his body, and he looked over at Bastila in grim amusement. He asked her in his quiet tenor, "Where did I go?"

Bastila snapped out of the dream. She was back on the bridge of the _Duskwind_ , with her head laying against Revan's chest—listening to the sound of his heartbeat.


	31. VI: The Force Shall Free Me

_To deny a living being the freedom to love is a crime that not even the Sith tolerate—yet, the Jedi deny it without yield. Never mind the fact that Jedi all across the galaxy defy the Order for this reason alone. The teachings of the Jedi Code are strong, but it is in this regard where it comes into question—constantly—and as well it should._

_Passion. Emotion. These are the things that keep the galaxy alive. These are all that attribute reason to a beating heart and the future of a newborn child. To watch passion come to light is the most beautiful thing I have ever gazed into. I looked into her eyes, she looked into mine, and suddenly everything made sense. The world still turned, but it did so with reason: so that the sun might shine again, bringing a new beginning to a new love struck overnight._

_I will kill. I will burn. I will damn this galaxy to a future that it could never have wished upon itself—but it is a future that it will need. I'll not live to see my works take shape, but I know those of the enlightened sort will look upon what I've done and they will smile. They will see that I've given hope to the hopeless. That I have granted the galaxy light for the coming darkness._

_They will see what I've helped them to endure._

_There's an old saying that states that nothing lasts forever—even the stars burn out. Life is but a series of moments, ending one after another. But I'd like to think that somewhere, down the line in the centuries that are sure to come, those moments will be brighter and more vivid than they ever would have been otherwise._

_This will be my legacy. This is the future that I'd give my life and many others to attain—and I'd do this gladly._

_Reader, remember what I have said here in this document and take it to heart. The path that has been set before you is not always the right one. There will be many roads to walk, and you will be faced with a choice that is not a choice. Walk all roads. See all sights. Learn as much as you can. But, above all, when in the face so many pathways to so many ends:_

_Choose._

-Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith

_Rakata and the Unknown World_

* * *

Bane closed the book. His eyes scanned the back cover for any trace of further knowledge. He found none, but he was still quite satisfied.

The Archives of the Sith Academy on Korriban fell hollow once again. The image of Darth Revan and his machinations fell away, back into the dark of memory. Bane had learned many things in this room since his teachers had given up on him—perhaps, even more than he would have learned otherwise. The old Sith ways spoken of within the many texts that he had feverishly poured over told of an intriguing system.

With every word of every sentence of every tome, Bane found the ways of the Brotherhood of Darkness to be… _faulty_. They started to feel weak in the face of the many Sith masters that had come before them—like Darth Revan.

It was only an impression, of course. After the indifferent treatment the Brotherhood had bestowed upon him in weeks past, he certainly had no reason to hold back his thoughts concerning them. Weak. Arrogant. An abomination of the Sith Order. These were but a few of the many he had derisively given them in his mind.

Bane rubbed at his chin, contemplating the lessons of Darth Revan that still lingered in the forefront of his mind.

_"A choice that isn't a choice."_

Interesting. He'd have to reread that book again at a later time.

As many Republic soldiers had remarked to Bane in previous years, back during his slave-like existence on Apatros, Revan's story was indeed _complicated._

Some said that Revan returned after the Jedi's attempt on his life as a Servant of the Light reborn, and put an end to Darth Malak's reign of terror. Others say that Revan reclaimed his title as Dark Lord of the Sith from Malak and ushered in another period of darkness. Either way, his effect on the galaxy seemed invisible to Bane.

On the whole, the Republic was getting along rather nicely. If Bane didn't know any better, he'd say that the balance Revan had attempted to attain had actually happened.

"But that was a long time ago," Bane whispered to himself. Somewhere, at some time, that balance had been destroyed. All was not well within the workings of the Force. But this time, the Sith were to blame.

Bane picked up the book, _The Rakata and the Unknown World_ , and gently returned it to its place in the Archives. He then left to his quarters to meditate, deactivating the lighting in the room with a wave of his hand.

It was there, deep within the stone ziggurat that was the Korriban Sith Academy, Darth Revan's work, from thousands of years past, sat silently in darkness—

Its purpose resoundingly fulfilled.


	32. Meanwhile, in the Skies Above Taris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A long time ago in a galaxy far,_  
>  far away....

* * *

**-One Year Later-**

* * *

The battle was not soon to be won, but it was only a distraction in any case. It was one of many that the Republic forces had been forced to play into in recent months as the Sith fleet's actions became increasingly erratic. Since Darth Revan's removal, the surprising, calculated strikes from the dark were replaced by the strategies of a madman who merely went for the least-defensible worlds.

Revan's old apprentice, Darth Malak, wasn't adhering to a strict plan any longer. He was going for the highest kill count.

The forests of Endtotomn were thick with Human and Twi'lek colonies with no more than a few flare guns and spears to defend themselves. It was a bittersweet revelation when Republic intelligence discovered the Sith entering the system. True, it meant that more civilian casualties would be suffered, but at the same time, this attack had been predicted. And that was one thing that the Sith had never been before Malak took command: predictable.

It was a small mercy in the wake of such destruction—as small as they come.

_"Commander Shan, the last of the transports are away. If there are anymore colonies on the surface, we can't find them. Chances are good the Sith won't find them either."_

"Very good, Captain," Bastila said into the comm. She was positioned on a mountaintop in a temporary base camp hidden beneath thick foliage, watching an artillery battle ensue far below in a forest glade. For hours, she had been in deep concentration, using her battle meditation against the invading armies. This day, everything went according to plan, for once. The Republic lines hadn't buckled one bit, and had even managed to push the Sith to retreat in some areas.

Since their initial landing, the Sith hadn't made any headway. It was the most the Republic could hope for at this point.

"Retrieve your soldiers. We're pulling out of the battle." Bastila stood from the ground and unconsciously brushed the dirt off of her robes.

_"Roger that, ma'am. Over and out."_

Bastila watched the standoff a bit longer until she saw the Republic artillery begin to pull back to the landing zone. Satisfied, she walked back through the grass to the camp where a small contingent of soldiers and comm operators were hard at work coordinating with troops on the ground.

"Our business is done here," Bastila announced. "We should be ready to move out as soon as possible. Without my influence, it won't be long before the Sith spot us here." She was met with a collection of nods, and everyone began to go about packing up their equipment as quickly as they could.

They didn't defeat their enemy today, but to Bastila it still felt like a victory to be proud of, and judging by what she sensed in the soldiers around her, the feeling was mutual.

"Commander Bastila!" one of the comm operators rushed over to her carrying a datapad.

"Yes, what is it?" she asked.

"You've just received new orders from Coruscant."

Bastila waved it away. "If it's from Command, tell them that I'll be there to brief them in person by tomorrow."

The operator shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. "This comes straight from the Jedi Council."

Hearing this, Bastila snatched the datapad from the operator without apology. Her eyes scanned the words slowly, and then again, and again. She almost dropped the thing when she was done.

"I see," she breathed. "Um..." She stood wringing her hands nervously for a minute more. "I, ah... Send a reply, if you could. Tell them that I will make for Coruscant immediately." She took another breath. "And have the _Endar Spire_ standby for my arrival."

* * *

The circuitry sparked and crackled when Kaydon Ahseran returned power to the engine room. He threw his hands around wildly, shielding himself from the small embers that hurdled forth from the malfunctioning console.

"Damn it all!" He quickly felt around for the switch on the circuit-breaker, not wanting to remove his hand away from his eyes. It was pure luck that his fingers flicked the right one on his first try. When the crackling stopped, he slowly spread his fingers apart and pushed back his long, black hair out of his eyes to see if everything was safe again—or as safe as things could be on such a busted ship as this.

Kaydon sighed and cursed a few times more before he picked up his hydrospanner to continue his work. It was at about that time when Wynnet, the ship's engineer—the _real_ engineer—came barging into the room.

"What in the flame-ridden Corellian Hell is happening in here!" Wynnet shouted. "The left nacelle just completely lost power there for a moment. We damn near drifted into an asteroid belt!"

"It's not my fault!" Kaydon snapped. "And this isn't my job!"

"You said you could fix it!"

"I said I would _try_!"

"You either do it or you don't. There ain't no _try_. If you wanna earn your passage, we better not have anymore problems like that again." Wynnet wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead and bared his teeth. "Look, just do what you can with it. Either way, we'll be going planetside by the end of the day. Probably won't make it to Nar Shaddaa."

Kaydon looked at the engineer incredulously. "Wynnet, I didn't come aboard this heap so that you could dump me on the next world over. I need to get to Nar Shaddaa, man."

Wynnet put up his hands. "Look, don't take it out on me. Captain says we gotta dock as soon as possible."

"Wh—" Kaydon's brow furrowed. He pushed past Wynnet and stormed down the corridor and up to the bridge, which was really nothing more than two pilots' seats and a comm console. The captain was sitting in one of the seats with his boots propped up on the navigation panel, his hands tucked behind his head and his eyes closed shut. "Captain Malkem."

The captain let out a loud snort as he woke, and his feet clumsily kicked off of the panel. "Wuh-uh. Yeah, I'm awake." He spun around in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, it's you."

"Yeah, it's me." Kaydon crossed his arms. "Wynnet says were coming into port a little early."

Malkem nodded knowingly. "Indeed we are, Mister Ahseran. Indeed we are." He stood up, which seemed to take more effort than it should have. "But that, sir, is not my doing."

"What are you talking about?"

"The Republic sent me a direct feed. They told me to bring'er in to Coruscant and to get you aboard one of their ships." Malkem gave Kaydon a look that snidely begged an explanation.

Kaydon shrugged, very much startled by the news. "Don't look at me. I don't have a record."

"Well, they were pretty insistent that I bring you in. They even offered to send me an escort... and considering the situation in the engine room, I probably should've agreed to it."

"Did they say why? I don't understand—"

"It ain't my way to argue with the suits, all right? They weren't messing around, I'm telling you. You're going to Coruscant or they'll shoot me out of the sky." He looked to the floor. "Probably."

Kaydon paced for a moment. His mind was a flurry of possible explanations for what was happening to him. Getting arrested was all he needed. "I don't have a record. Haven't even been living in Republic space for the last five years."

"I don't care if you've been flying around the galaxy rescuing babies from... trees, I don't know. I don't care! You're getting off this boat. Even if I have to drag you."

* * *

Taking his first steps into the Coruscant spaceport, Kaydon was met with an odd sensation. From Dock 13 all the way down to 209, he couldn't stop grinning. He felt like an idiot, and even more so when people began staring. He even went so far as to bite his cheek to make it go away, but he just felt so happy. He couldn't explain it. Eventually, he just stopped trying.

Dock 209 was flanked by a pair of Republic guards in orange uniforms. They had blasters readied, and their eyes darted to and settled upon Kaydon as if he was a threat.

"Don't mind them." A young woman appeared, smiling widely as she walked. She was dressed nicely with a gray suit and skirt, and she had her arms wrapped around a large datapad. "Are you boarding here?"

Kaydon double-checked the dock number. "Ah... _yeah_. I don't think I ever had much of a choice."

"Oh, someone got a special summons, huh?" She laughed. "Don't worry. We didn't send out any warrants, so it's probably just something in your profile that got you drafted." She looked at her datapad. "You name, please."

"Kaydon Ahseran... ma'am."

Her fingers darted across the screen until: _Ding!_ "Ah-ha! Here you are." She scanned the profiled for a few seconds. "Wow, no wonder." She looked up at Kaydon and then back to the datapad. "Proficient in dozens of alien languages. Served as a mechanic aboard an Apatros mining skiff. Special talent for droid repair and you've visited... Oh, I've... never seen anyone with a travel record this extensive who wasn't closing in on their twilight years."

Kaydon smiled and shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a talented individual."

"And how." She threw a nod to the guards, who quickly fell at ease. "They'll be expecting you at the airlock. Have a good flight—and don't worry, your tour will probably only last a week or so."

"Right," Kaydon sighed. "That'll be a week longer than I had expected to be hanging around." He nodded at the woman. "Thank you, miss."

When he reached the end of the dock, Kaydon looked out of a nearby window to see what he was dealing with. It looked like he was boarding a hammerhead-class cruiser. He gulped. Who hires a drifter to serve aboard a warship? He had absolutely no interest in fighting any Sith.

Maybe it wasn't too late to run away, maybe go into hiding awhile. They would never find him back on his homeworld—not on Deralia. It would be nice to see Jilta Town again, in any case; and his old friend, Jerrol.

_Jerr's probably let himself go without me there to drag him out to the fields._

He groaned, shooed away his thoughts and kept his feet moving toward the ship's airlock. As much as he didn't want to see battle, he had absolutely no interest in living out his life as a fugitive, either.

Jerrol would never let him live it down.

At the airlock, he was met by another group of guards, but they paid him no mind this time. He took a step inside the hammerhead and he instantly took notice of the subtle vibration beneath his feet. It was the engine beginning to warm up. He knew that the shudders would only intensify for a few more minutes before dropping off sharply, and then he wouldn't even feel it anymore.

How did he even know that?

Kaydon kept moving. At the end of the corridor, a group of officers were conversing quietly with each other. As Kaydon approached, they looked up politely.

"Oh, hello there." A man with a dark orange coat reached out and shook Kaydon's hand. He spoke rapidly, as though he was in a hurry. "Welcome aboard the _Endar Spire_. We'll be taking off in a few minutes, just to let you know. One of these fine gentlemen will get you settled in your quarters before then."

A voice buzzed forth from an overhead speaker. _"Lieutenant Onasi, please report to the bridge. Lieutenant Onasi, please report to the bridge."_

The man in the orange coat held up a personal communicator to his mouth. "You got it. On my way to the bridge now." He nodded to Kaydon. "Good luck to you, sir." And then he quickly jogged off down the corridor.

One of the other officers came to meet Kaydon. "Sorry about our resident military advisor. You can never get him to stand still." He looked Kaydon over. "Are you the translator the Jedi brought on?"

Kaydon was still a bit flustered by the flood of greetings. "Wuh? Did you say Jedi?" He shook his head. "I was told it was a Republic summons... or something."

"The Jedi have been sort of using us as their official-unofficial proxy. If they took care of this stuff themselves, no one would ever show up. Not too many people are quick to trust them these days."

"Well, that's a given," Kaydon said matter-of-factly. "Considering Darth Revan, I'm not even sure I completely trust them anymore."

"I don't blame you. But do this for the Republic then." The officer smiled and his eyes mocked desperation. "Please. You will, of course, be generously compensated."

Kaydon laughed helplessly. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Thank the Force for that. If I had to be the one to tell those Jedi you weren't going to stay, I would have never heard the end of it!" He motioned his arm toward the nearest corridor. "Right this way. I'll show you where you'll be staying." He led Kaydon through various hatches and down adjoining hallways. The place appeared absolutely confusing on a labyrinth-like scale, but Kaydon never once felt lost. He knew the ship was designed as such to bewilder a possible enemy boarding party—somehow.

The officer began talking again when they entered the crew quarters. "You'll be sharing a room with Ensign Trask Ulgo, but you won't see him very much. The man never goes down, I swear. The mess hall is just one deck down if you ever get hungry, but I'm sure you'll..." He continued talking, but Kaydon's attention was elsewhere.

Down the next corridor, a group of women in brown robes stood watching Kaydon as he passed. Kaydon stared back in return, paying special attention to the woman at the head of the group.

She had copper-colored hair tied away beneath her cowl, fair skin, and a face that was both beautiful and strangely familiar. But it was her eyes that caught his attention. Eyes that shined like moonlit fog. She turned away from him before he could look upon her any longer.

Kaydon thought he saw the glint of a tear on her cheek.

"Something wrong?" the officer asked, backtracking to where Kaydon had stopped walking.

"Um." Kaydon broke himself out of his trance. "Were those women Jedi?"

"Who?" The officer looked down the corridor, but saw no one. "Were they wearing homespun robes?"

"Yeah."

"Probably were. You don't have to worry about them, though. They might have brought you aboard, but your our responsibility now. Don't worry, we look after our own." The officer led Kaydon a few doors down until they arrived at his new quarters. It was an awfully boring-looking little room with bunks that hardly looked comfortable. "Here's you."

"Here's me," Kaydon echoed. "Don't suppose there are any holobooks on board."

"We'll bring some for you after we're on our way."

"Can I at least know where we're going? How long I'm going to be here?"

"I'll let you know," the officer replied, dismissively. "Hop on the comm if you need anything." He slid the door shut.

Kaydon sighed loudly into the room and dropped his pack in the middle of the floor. Without anything to do but wait, he walked over to the nearest bunk and slumped onto it. He wasn't surprised when he found that the mattress was as stiff as durasteel.

He began staring up at the ceiling to pass the time, drifting back and forth between annoyance and curiosity. "I have a bad feeling about this."

* * *

Hours passed. The view outside Kaydon's tiny viewport didn't change much. He could tell that they had jumped to lightspeed a few times, but none of the constellations looked familiar when they came to a stop. For all his experience, he couldn't make heads or tails of where they were taking him.

He considered taking a trip down to the mess hall. He considered exploring the ship, and maybe helping out in engineering if at all possible. He considered doing a lot of things, but the intense boredom of the trip so far had effectively sapped his energy.

Regret boiled up inside his mind. He should have stayed away. No amount of money could be worth such monotony. He stripped down to his undergarments and pulled the blankets of his bed up over his shoulders. The mattress might have been stiff, but it somehow came to feel cozy.

Maybe it was that woman. That Jedi. Something about her just resonated through his very being. She was like a flame that even now continued to warm his heart. And that tear on her cheek stuck with him, as well. He wanted to know how a Jedi could find a reason to cry. Such sadness in those eyes—and he could still feel it, like she was here with him right now, crying on his shoulder.

He felt some semblance of guilt. Like it was somehow his fault. He wanted to hold her and tell her everything would be all right. That he would be there with her—always. And that he'd never leave her side ever again.

Kaydon shook his head, fighting away the thoughts. He had no reason to feel guilt or to feel this way about her; he'd never met the woman before in his life. He made a mental note to visit the sick bay before his little tour of duty aboard the _Endar Spire_ was over.

He began to doze off, and as he did, a memory that shined in his mind's eye like gold floated up into consciousness. The girl had copper-colored hair and eyes as gray as the fog of a Coruscanti morning.

She was standing beneath a tree in a grand courtyard, holding out her hand in his direction, smiling—and the green world on which they stood brightened by this act. Kaydon took up her hand and pulled her close, her lips trembling in anticipation. They kissed with a passion that moved every flower on the nearby tree to bloom. The sun broke the horizon, and drowned out their act in a light that consecrated all that they were, down to their spirits.

The woman smiled brightly and stole away, running across the courtyard and toward the endless fields of their world. He selfishly chased the image, and she happily led him away, hand in hand, into the warming light of the dawning sun.

Absorbed by the dream, Kaydon was soon fast asleep.

Meanwhile, outside the viewport of his cabin, the bright curtain of hyperspace distortion fell away into nothingness, and a luminous blue planet rose up to take its place in the vista: as the _Endar Spire_ began its first orbit around the outer rim world of Taris.


End file.
